Erik's Diary
by MoonlightDutchess
Summary: What if during her two week stay in Erik's home, Christine had happened upon Erik's diary? Would things have turned out differently if she knew exactly how much her actions affected him?
1. Some Light Reading

**Disclaimer: Erik and Christine belong to Gaston Louis Alfred Leroux. (Yeah, I know his full name.) Erik's diary belongs to Erik.**

Christine sighed, plopping down onto the small couch in Erik's sitting room. She had been down here a week with the strange man with the face of a demon and the voice of an angel who had become her jailer, and she was slowly coaxing him towards letting her go free. She was earning his trust, bestowing upon him little acts of kindness. She was a good actress, and was using her skills to lull Erik into a false state of security, hoping that by gaining his confidence she would also gain her freedom.

Erik himself was currently out grocery shopping, leaving Christine alone in the house by the lake. During these times he usually locked her in her bedroom, but had lately been permitting her to wander about the house, excepting certain rooms which he kept locked. Christine looked about her, trying to find something with which to amuse herself until Erik returned.

Suddenly, Christine's gaze landed on a little black leather bound book resting on the coffee table. She didn't recall seeing it there before, and was curious as to what it might be. Picking it up, Christine flipped to a random page and gasped. She had been expecting printed words, but was greeted instead with Erik's spidery, childlike handwriting. Leafing through the book, she discovered it was all written in the same hand, using the same blood red ink. Curious, Christine flipped through the book until she found the date on which he had brought her here and began to read.

_November 23_

_ What joy! What ecstasy! Christine has seen Erik's face, yet has allowed him to kiss the hem of her dress! She tells him he may show her his face without fear, and if she should shiver when looking upon him, it is because she is thinking of his great genius! Oh, silly Christine, Erik knows you say this only out of pity, but perhaps in time it shall be true? No, Erik mustn't hope. Erik must never hope, for it is all too easy for Christine to break his wretched heart if he should hope!_

_ November 24_

_ Surely the angels have smiled upon me! Christine, without even knowing it, you have caused your poor devoted Erik such pleasure as to make him weep for joy. I was sitting in a chair by the fire, when all of a sudden Christine walked past me and as she did so, **her hand brushed mine! **Oh, how Erik trembled at his angel's divine mercy! She did not mean to do it, of course, she did not even notice Erik's sublime happiness as he sat trembling in his chair, but she did it all the same! It was the first time a woman has touched me and not pulled away, shuddering with disgust. My own mother never kissed me, never! And sweet Christine has brushed her hand to mine! At last I know what it is like to feel a woman's touch! Oh Christine, such a gift Erik shall cherish for the rest of his life!_

Upon reading these words, Christine's eyes filled with tears. "_His own **mother** refused to kiss him? The poor man!" _Christine thought, _"No. If I begin to pity the creature now, I'll never be able to leave him! Oh, he is pitiable, to be sure, but he is also a monster." _She quickly wiped away her tears and continued reading.

_November 25_

_ Oh, horror of horrors! Erik has made his angel unhappy! She cried in her room today, refusing to come out. Erik went out and bought her favorite pastries this evening. Perhaps she will forgive him if he apologizes at breakfast and leaves her to herself all day?_

_ November 26_

_ Today, Christine has taken me to Heaven and back! I had been hiding from her all day, scurrying about the house in the shadows like the rat I am, when loneliness overcame me and I peeked in at where she was sitting by the fire. She saw me, yet did not run away! Instead, she beckoned me to come closer! She asked me to tell her a story, so I sat at her feet and wove her a tale of mystery and wonder, and when it was over, she **smiled **at me! A real, genuine, smile! And then, do you know what she said to me? Do you know what the dear angel has said? She has said, "Erik, that was lovely." **Lovely! **She called my story **lovely! **And Erik nodded very meekly and said "Thank you," like he should and went to his room and cried, for her kindness made him so happy._

Once again, Christine found herself tearing up at his words. Had her smile really had that effect on him? _"How is it that a smile and a simple compliment are enough to cause him to cry for joy?These are but ordinary acts of kindness that most men take without a second thought, but Erik weeps with happiness when I bestow them upon him. Does what I say and do truly mean __**that much**__ to the poor man?" _A solitary tear made it's way down her cheek and landed upon the diary. Christine turned the page and continued reading.

_ November 27_

_ Erik is living in a dream! Today, the dear, sweet girl has made Erik's dreams come true yet again! Erik was tired, so tired, yet once again, Christine requested his presence by the fireside. He was telling her a story, but he was so exhausted that as he did so he fell asleep. When he awoke, Christine was still there, and there was a blanket draped about Erik's body! And Erik had not suffered a single nightmare! Oh, if Erik could but spend each night upon the rug at the foot of Christine's bed, he would never have nightmares again for as long as he lives! He dreads going to bed each night, knowing the horrors he shall face, but Christine's presence is enough to drive away the nightmares. Oh, if only!_

Christine was sobbing openly now, tears streaming down her cheeks. Poor Erik! She'd had no idea that he suffered from nightmares. _"How could I be so cruel as to abandon him now? It would break his poor heart!" _she thought. She was about to keep reading when she heard a voice from the doorway.

"Christine?" Erik said, "Put down the book. You should not be reading something that makes you cry so. What are you reading, child? Let Erik see."

**A/N: Oh dear! What is to happen next? Please review!**


	2. Tantrums

Erik had crossed the room and was standing in front of Christine, holding out his hand for the book. She could not bring herself to give it to him, fearing his wrath upon discovering that she had been reading his diary. She just sat there, sobbing and clutching the book to her chest. Erik was growing concerned.

"What is it, Christine?" he asked, looking into her tear filled eyes, "Has Erik done something to upset you? Has he harmed you in some way?" With this, he fell before her on his knees, crying, "Oh Christine, Erik shall never forgive himself if he has caused you pain!"

"No, Erik," Christine said through her tears, "Please, it's not your fault! Just... promise you won't be angry with me?" Erik's eyes grew wide with fear.

"What is it you mean to tell me, Christine? Have you done something Erik should know about? What is the matter?" He was twisting his hands together nervously, looking up at her with his terrified golden eyes. He was afraid of what she would say, afraid of what misery fate had decided to inflict upon him now. With trembling hands and hushed sobs, Christine held out the little black book.

Erik's jaw dropped. _"My diary!" _he thought, _"How the hell did she get her hands on my diary? Now Erik remembers, he was in such a hurry this morning to get to the market before there were too many people there, he must have forgotten to put it away! Oh, woe! Woe to wretched Erik! Christine shall never love him now that she knows what goes on inside his mind!"_

With a shuddering sob that seemed to contain all the sorrows the world had ever known, Erik collapsed on the rug. He pounded his fists on the floor and shrieked with rage like a child that did not get its way. He could not comprehend anything outside of his own anger and shame. Finally, he had exhausted himself from crying, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke, he was once again covered by a blanket. Christine sat on the floor beside him, reading a book. Acting on impulse, he snatched it from her hands. She gasped and looked at him, putting a hand to her heart. It was at this moment that Erik realized that the book he held was not his diary, but was in fact a collection of poems.

"Forgive me, Christine," he said, handing the book back to her sheepishly, "I'd thought..."

"It's alright, Erik," Christine said, "Your diary is on the table. I'm sorry for reading it, I was just so curious." Erik frowned.

"Yes, Erik knows your curiosity well, Christine," he muttered darkly, tapping his mask. He rose, took the diary from off the table, and retreated to his room. A moment later, Christine could hear muffled sobs coming from behind Erik's closed door.

_"What am I to do?" _Christine thought, _"Do I go to him? Do I stay here? By staying with Erik, I loose everything I've ever known. But could I be gaining something more? Is it worth the risk? Perhaps not, but if I return to the surface world, Erik would be shattered! He needs me. He __**needs **__me."_

Christine rose, and with newfound determination, made her way towards Erik's bedroom door.

**A/N: So, whaddya think? Please review, it means a lot! Ye be warned: the next chapter has a fluff factor of nigh over 100.**


	3. Comfort and Compassion

**A/N: Here it is: the fluffy chapter of doom! Although this is purely a Leroux fic, I have made references to three distinct versions of POTO in this chapter. One of them is Leroux. Cookies to anyone who can spot the other two!**

Christine pushed open Erik's bedroom door and walked inside. The room was dark. Erik lay in his coffin bed, curled up in a ball. His thin bony frame was wracked with sobs, and he was so absorbed in his crying that he did not notice Christine's presence until she gently laid a hand on his arm. Erik gasped and looked up at her, misery and despair evident in his tear filled golden eyes.

But there was something else in those eyes as well. Hope. Timid, fragile hope, born of the fact that she was standing there. His angel, Christine, was standing there with her hand on his arm. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached her other hand down, placing it on his mask. Erik shied away from her curious fingers, pressing himself into the cushioning of the coffin.

"It's alright, Erik," Christine murmured, "Will you let me?" He felt her fingers gently crawl under the edge of the mask and shivered from the sweet sensation of her touch.

_"My cheek!" _Erik thought, _"Her sweet, dear fingers are touching my cheek! Oh, how wonderful it feels! Please, Christine! Please keep doing this! Oh god, her fingers are so gentle..."_ His eyes closed and he nuzzled his face desperately into her hand, moaning softly.

The black mask slipped slowly from Erik's face. Christine held her breath, willing herself not to react. _"He needs me now," _she thought, _"I have to be strong. I have to comfort my poor Erik. I must be here for him. He needs me."_

She laid her other hand on his forehead and gently traced her fingers over every last inch of his face. It wasn't half so frightening when not contorted with rage. Instead, he was sobbing. Sobbing with supreme and utter joy. _"Christine is touching my face!" _he thought, _"My poor neglected face is being touched by the woman of my dreams! Oh, what joy! What splendor! Erik could die a happy man. But no! Erik must not die yet, now that he has just found happiness in life!"_

"Not too much now, Christine," Erik mumbled, "You're going to kill me if you keep this up, Erik's poor heart isn't used to this much happiness, you see. Was that your plan all along, Christine? Kill Erik with happiness?" Christine abruptly stopped stroking Erik's face.

"No Erik, please don't die!" she exclaimed, "I don't want you to die, Erik! Please..." Erik opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Christine... does not want Erik... to die?" he asked, a puzzled look on his face, "Christine wishes... for Erik... to live?"

"Of course!" she cried, looking into his golden eyes with concern. _"Does he think I wish him dead?" _she thought, _"Where on earth did __**that **__come from?"_

"Erik would like to live, but not if he has to be alone. Will Erik have to be alone, Christine?" Erik asked, looking up at his angel with childlike curiosity. Christine felt a lump forming in her throat.

"No, Erik," she said softly, tears streaming down her cheeks, "You'll never have to be alone again." Erik began trembling.

"Has Erik done something wrong? Oh Christine, Erik is very sorry! You do not have to stay, please! The monster begs your forgiveness! Is it Erik's face that troubles you?" he said, groping about the bed, "Here! The mask! The mask shall protect you Christine! You needn't look upon Erik's poor face any longer." With this he sat up and began putting on the mask.

"Erik, please!" Christine cried out, making him stop, "I was not crying because of you, Erik, I was crying _for _you! Oh Erik. Poor, unhappy Erik. What kind of life have you known? I'm here for you now, Erik. I'll always be here for you." She wrapped her arms around him in a gentle embrace and pulled him close to her.

Erik didn't move. He didn't even breathe. _"She's hugging me!" _he thought, _"I've never had a hug before! And... she said she'd stay? For me? I won't have to be alone anymore! Erik shall be able to do anything with Christine at his side! Oh, I would even go out in broad daylight without my mask if it __meant spending time with Christine. At last! At last Erik shall be a normal man! A normal man with a normal wife that he can take out on Sundays..." _He began to sob once more, burying his face in Christine's neck. She rocked him gently, rubbing his back and humming a simple lullaby.

"Hear those bells ringing soft and low,

Bringing peace through the twilight glow,

Calling to everyone,

Night has begun,

Tired from your weary toil,

Day's work is done,

Hear them ring while my love and I,

Drift and dream to their lullaby."

By the time Christine had finished singing, Erik was fast asleep.


	4. The Singular Attitude of a Napkin

**A/N: Longest chapter yet! There is angst, fluff, and a bit of humor. Please read and review!**

The first thing that Erik noticed when he awoke was a peculiar feeling of safety and comfort. The second thing he noticed was that Christine was seated on a chair beside his coffin bed and was holding one of his hands in hers, smiling at him kindly. _"That smile is enough to drive away all the gloomy thoughts in the world," _Erik thought, quivering slightly.

"Erik," Christine said softly, her smile widening, "You're awake."

"So I am," he mumbled shyly, sitting up and averting his eyes, "Where... where is my mask? Erik needs his mask..." He began looking around for it.

"No you don't," Christine said softly, "I've told you before, Erik, you may show me your face without fear." Erik located the mask and placed it over his face. He tied the strings, then turned to face Christine.

"Silly, silly Christine," Erik said, "Erik's only fear is that Christine shall be frightened of _him._ Erik knows that Christine isn't ready yet. Not yet, but perhaps someday she will be?" He cocked his head to the right.

A silent tear rolled down Christine's cheek. _"My poor Erik," _she thought, _"How much longer until I gain the courage to set you free from your loneliness? How much longer until I am strong enough to give you the happiness you deserve?"_

_ "Christine is going to cry!" _Erik thought, noticing the solitary teardrop, _"Erik has made her unhappy! What should he do? Should he beg forgiveness? When Erik was crying, Christine came to him and showed him comfort. Perhaps it is time for Erik... to comfort Christine." _Tentatively, he reached out his trembling bony hand and, lightly as he could, brushed away Christine's tear with his thumb. She lifted her eyes to meet his, making his heart pound in his chest.

"Thank you, Erik," she whispered. He felt the blood rush to his cheeks, and was grateful that the mask prevented her from seeing him blushing at her gratitude. He quickly pulled back his hand, attempting to regain his composure.

"You are welcome, my dear," he said, climbing out of the bed, "Now what is it Christine would like for supper?" She looked up at him from her chair, smiling pleasantly.

"Surprise me," she said. Erik cocked his head once more.

"Chicken Alfredo it is then," he said, and began walking towards the door, but paused halfway there, "Come, Christine, Erik does not wish to leave you once more in the company of his diary." Blushing, Christine followed him out. He locked his bedroom door and sauntered off to the kitchen, leaving Christine to occupy herself until supper was ready.

_"So far, Erik has been leaving me alone when I eat," _she thought to herself, _"Perhaps this evening I'll ask him to join me. He needs to eat. He's so thin... I wonder if he forgets to feed himself? Perhaps he lives off music." _She smiled at this thought. _"And his skin, oh, his skin is so cold! When was the last time it saw the sun? Next summer, I must take him to the sea. Perhaps the salt air and the sunlight will do him good. He has been my angel, my guardian, and now I must be his. He taught me to sing, and now, I shall teach him to live."_

With this thought, Christine hurried to her bedroom to dress for dinner. She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a blue satin gown that Erik had given her, saying it would set off her eyes. She brushed out her long, blonde curls and tied her hair in a ponytail with a blue ribbon that matched the dress. Lastly, she slipped into a pair of brown shoes, and daubed on a touch of rouge. She had just finished these preparations when she heard a timid knock at her door.

"Dinner is ready," Erik said from outside her door. Christine opened it, and he gasped. Nothing could have possibly prepared Erik for what he saw. Christine was beautiful! He staggered backwards, one hand pressed to his heart, the other reaching out slightly towards Christine. He wheezed, looking as if he was about to fall down. Christine ran and grabbed his arm, supporting him as best she could.

"Erik, are you alright?" she asked, her dazzling blue eyes filled with concern. Erik nodded, his breathing shaky.

"C-Christine," he stuttered, "You're b-beautiful!" Christine blushed a bright pink, which to Erik made her seem that much more gorgeous. His head was swimming, and all he could do was stand there and look at her. _"Her eyes... Erik was right, the dress really __**does **__set them off! And her skin looks so lovely... What Erik wouldn't give to kiss those hands... those cheeks... and, oh God, those lips! Erik would give anything for Christine to press those sweet lips to his... They would be so soft... so soothing... A kiss from Christine could take away all the pain... Perhaps Erik's face would even become normal if Christine bestowed upon it her sweet kisses... No. Erik mustn't think of that. This is no fairy tale. The only magic is that of Christine's mercy! And no matter how merciful she is, an angel like her could never want to kiss a rotting corpse like Erik, could she? Oh, but if she did..."_

Christine blushed redder under the intensity of Erik's stare. His golden eyes looked hungry, as though they would consume her. His gaze roamed over her from head to foot, drinking in her beauty as Tantalus would drink a pitcher of water offered to him by some merciful wood nymph. He was trembling slightly, and his breathing was still irregular, but he was steadier now that she was supporting his arm.

"Erik, are you alright?" she repeated, breaking the spell. His eyes snapped back to hers, and he stood up straighter.

"Fine, my dear. Please forgive poor Erik, he did not mean to frighten you so," he said, "It's just... you're so _lovely. _Erik isn't used to loveliness, you see. He hasn't known you long enough to be used to it yet." Christine blushed again.

"Erik, you flatter me," she said, smiling.

"But it's true Christine!" he exclaimed, gently extracting his arm from her hand and leading her towards the dining room. Christine noticed that the table was only set for one. She turned to Erik.

"Erik, will you join me for dinner?" she asked. Erik's breath caught in is throat. _"She wants me to join her? Why?" _he thought.

"Erik... is not allowed," he said quietly.

"What do you mean, Erik?" Christine asked.

"Mother didn't let Erik eat at the table," he muttered, looking at his shoes, "Erik ate in his room if Erik ate at all."

"You poor thing!" Christine cried, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle embrace. She felt him tense, then relax into her arms. "You won't have to eat alone anymore," she said softly, "Please Erik, join me?" She pulled back slightly in order to look him in the eye. He paused for a moment, then nodded. She smiled at him. Erik extracted himself from her arms and pulled out Christine's chair for her. She sat, and he pushed it in, then went around to the opposite side of the table and sat down across from Christine. She began to eat, but after a few moments stopped and looked at Erik.

"Erik, is there any more food? You're not eating anything," she said.

"Erik is not hungry," he said, looking down at the table to avoid his angel's gaze.

"Please eat something," Christine said, "You're so thin, Erik."

"I... I can't," he mumbled.

"Why not?" she asked. Erik sighed and looked up at her.

"Christine, my mask covers my mouth. To be able to eat I have to take it off, and I don't wish to disgust you," he said.

"Erik, you don't disgust me," she said, reaching across the table and taking his hand, "I want you to eat with me." Erik sighed, then stood up and walked over to a chest of drawers. He pulled out a place mat, some silverware, and two napkins. He set himself a place across from Christine, then turned away from her, removed his mask, and placed the napkin over his head so that only his mouth was showing. He turned to Christine.

"Better?" he asked. Christine smiled.

"Much," she replied. He turned from her again, lifted the napkin up so that he could see, and went into the kitchen. A few moments later he returned, carrying a plate with a meager helping of food and a glass of white wine. The napkin once more covered his eyes, so he groped his way to the table and set down the glass and plate. He found the knife and fork by touch, then tapped the fork around his plate until he found the chicken. He cut off a bite and tried to bring it to his mouth, but missed by a couple of inches, then corrected his error. He found his napkin and wiped the alfredo sauce off his chin. Christine began to laugh, and rose from her seat.

"Poor Erik," she said, coming around to his side of the table and taking a seat beside him, "Here, let me help you." She picked up his knife and fork, cut a bite of chicken, and brought it to his lips. Erik opened his mouth, and she placed the bite of chicken inside, then removed the fork and set it down. She picked up the wine glass and brought it to his lips, then tipped it so that he could drink. Erik was trembling now.

_"She's feeding me!" _he thought, _"She's taking care of her wretched monster! No one else has ever fed me with their own hands before! Oh, I shall savor each little morsel she feeds me as a gift sent from heaven!"_ Christine continued feeding him until all the food was gone, and the wine, too. She then took the napkin and gently wiped Erik's lips, causing a shiver to run down his spine. She then returned to her own place at the table and resumed eating her dinner. Erik turned from her, and replaced the napkin with the mask.

_"He seemed to like being fed," _she thought, _"And I rather enjoyed feeding him. He's so timid sometimes, like a small child. What was his childhood like? He said his mother didn't let him eat at the table. He had to eat all alone, but not anymore. I'll feed him breakfast, lunch, and dinner if that's what it takes. I will be strong. He needs me to be strong. I'm strong enough to keep him company, but that isn't enough. Please God, give me the strength I need. Give me the strength... to love him"_


	5. Nightmares

**A/N: And so the reign of fluff continues! Though the fluff is somewhat wet due to Erik crying all over it.**

After dinner, Christine led Erik to the sitting room and took a seat on the little sofa near the fireplace. Erik was unsure of what to do, but he decided that his angel probably wouldn't want him to sit beside her, so he sat down on the rug at her feet. _"The poor man," _thought Christine, _"He's too shy to even sit with me." _She got off of the sofa and took a seat beside Erik on the rug.

Erik felt his pulse quicken. _"Christine is sitting so close!" _he thought, _"Why? Why this kindness? Oh, it does not matter. I don't mind the reason for this sweet mercy, as long as she keeps bestowing it upon me!" _Christine looked at Erik. He was trembling slightly, and she could not tell if it was from joy or fear. Gently, she reached out and took his gloved hand in hers. She heard him gasp, and saw that he was trembling even more than before.

"It's alright, Erik," she murmured, as she slowly removed his glove to reveal the yellow, bony hand beneath. She examined his hand closely, turning it over to look at the palm, then back again. She heard his ragged breathing as she held his hand between her own, trying to warm it. _"His hand is so cold," _she thought, _"I want to warm him." _She brought his hand to her face and gently rested it upon her cheek, showing him that she was not afraid. Erik began to cry.

"Oh Christine," he sobbed, "Please, oh, please Christine, won't you tell poor Erik why you're doing this? How is it that you came to be so merciful to your wretched monster?"

"You're not a monster, Erik," she said, pulling him close to her in a gentle embrace, "I'm doing this because I... I care for you. I care for you, Erik, and I want you to be happy." He sobbed harder at her words, leaning into her as if being close to her would keep him safe from the darkness he had lived in for so long. She let him cry, holding him close and rocking him until he calmed down. A few minutes later, he raised his head and gave her a look filled with such devotion and adoration her heart skipped a beat.

"Thank you, my angel," he said softly, "Poor, unhappy Erik, isn't unhappy anymore." She smiled and hugged him once more.

"I'm glad," she whispered. Erik yawned and looked at the clock.

"It's getting late," he said, rising to his feet, "Erik and Christine should be getting to sleep, hmmm?" Christine rose and looked at him, biting her lip.

"Erik?" she asked.

"Yes, my dear?"

"What about your nightmares?" Christine said. He had written so fearfully of them in his diary, and she wanted to help him. Erik's eyes narrowed.

"Erik never told you of his nightmares," he said, "How do you know?"

"Your diary," Christine said, blushing, "You said you had horrible nightmares. Is there anything I can do to help?" Erik sighed.

"Christine should not concern herself with Erik's sleeping habits," he said, "Good night."

"Good night," Christine said. Erik retired to his room.

_"She wanted to help me!" _he thought as he got ready for bed, _"Oh, what a sweet girl she is. But she would never __**really **__want to help me. The only thing that takes away the nightmares is her presence, and I know for a fact that she would never let me spend a night curled on the floor at the foot of her bed. It would be indecent!"_

Meanwhile, Christine sat in a chair, brushing out her hair. _"When I had nightmares as a child, Papa would always be there for me to hold me and tell me it would all be alright. Erik has no one to wake up to. He's so alone down here. Tonight, I shall try and stay awake so that I may go to him and comfort him when the nightmares come." _

Later that night, as Christine had just begun to doze, she was awakened to the sound of a scream. She leapt out of bed, lit a candle, and quickly made her way to Erik's bedroom. She ran over to Erik's coffin bed and set her candle down on the nightstand. He was maskless, and his face was covered in perspiration. He was struggling in his sleep, looking utterly terrified. Christine began shaking him.

"Erik!" she cried, "Erik, wake up! It's only a nightmare! I'm here, Erik!" His golden eyes flashed open and he gasped, sitting bolt upright. He looked at her in confusion.

"C-C-Christine?" he stammered, breathing quickly from his nightmare.

"Shhh," she said, stroking his sparse black hair, "It's alright, Erik. You're safe now. I'm here for you." Tears rolled down Erik's hollow, sunken cheeks. He reached for Christine and she hugged him, holding him close and continuing to stroke his hair.

"Oh Christine," he whispered, "It was awful. Erik was so cold, so alone. Then, there was fire! Burning, burning fire hitting Erik like a whip! He called out for Christine to save him, but she didn't come. Christine forgot her poor Erik and he was burning, burning up."

"That will never happen, Erik," she soothed, "I promise you. You'll never be alone. It was only a dream." She rubbed his back and allowed his head to rest upon her chest, disregarding propriety for the moment in order to comfort Erik. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady tempo of her heartbeat. His mind began to compose a melody around it, and he fell asleep to the sound of his own personal lullaby.


	6. Good Morning!

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful seawanderer, who is absolutely awesome for continuing a story that she abandoned. If you haven't read her story "Can it be?" go check it out RIGHT NOW! Erik will give you cookies!**

Erik awoke the next morning feeling unusually squished. He was lying on his side, his back pressed against the cushioning of the coffin bed, with something warm and soft in front of him. He had no idea what was going on, until he opened his eyes and found himself face to face with a sleeping Christine. He felt perspiration beginning to form on his brow. _"What on Earth is she doing in my bed?" _he thought, _"This is entirely indecent! But oh God, what a wonderful way to wake up... NO ERIK! You must not let your mind get the best of you! Quick! Where is my mask? Christine must not experience the horror of waking up to a corpse!"_

Just as he was about to sit up and look for his mask, Christine opened her eyes. But she did not scream. She smiled.

"Good morning, Erik," she said cheerfully, "Did you sleep well?" Erik's jaw dropped. _"Why isn't she recoiling in horror?" _he thought, _"Have I suddenly become handsome overnight?" _He reached up and touched his face, feeling the same hollow cheeks and sunken eyes as always. He looked at Christine in bewilderment.

"You're not screaming," he said. Christine gave him a bemused look.

"No. Why should I be?" she asked.

"Because you're lying in bed with a monster!" he said. She frowned.

"You're not a monster, Erik," she said. And then she did something amazing. Something that no one else had ever done. She leaned over and kissed Erik on the forehead.

_"A kiss!" _Erik thought, _"Finally, after all these years, a kiss! From Christine! Oh, her lips, they're softer than I ever imagined... Can it be? This must surely be some fantastic dream! But Erik has never had such a __**pleasant **__dream before... Could this be real? What has Erik done to deserve such a heavenly kiss? Oh... I could never ask for more than this!" _He began sobbing uncontrollably, his whole body shaking violently.

"Oh, Christine!" he wailed, "Thank you, my angel! Oh, please! Erik loves you so much, Christine! He never _dreamed_ you would deign to kiss his poor ugly forehead with your own sweet lips! Oh Christine, do you know how sweet your lips are? Oh, how Erik has longed for their touch! Thank you!"

Christine was stunned. _"The poor man," _she thought, _"That was only a kiss upon the forehead! I wonder what would happen if I ever kissed him on the lips? I've never kissed a grown man before, other than my father. No man I've ever seen would react this way to being kissed. But Erik is a different sort of man, isn't he?" _Gently, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her, offering the comfort of her embrace to him once more. She was growing quite accustomed to holding Erik in her arms, and found that having his cold, bony body nestled against hers was almost reassuring, in a way. It gave her a sense of belonging, of being needed.

As the last of Erik's sobs faded away, Christine pulled back slightly to look at him. His eyes were red from crying, but the corners of his mouth were curled up in a shy, hopeful smile.

"What would you like for breakfast, dear Erik?" Christine asked him. She saw his eyes widen in surprise.

_"Dear Erik?" _he thought, _"She's never called me __**that **__before! And... yesterday... she said she __**cared**__ for me! I wonder if...? No, it cannot be! Erik mustn't daydream, he must answer her question!"_

"No no no, Christine," he said, "It is _your _choice what food you eat, Erik is here to serve _you_!"

"I'd like _you_ to pick what we eat this morning," she said, "You will join me for breakfast, won't you?"

"I... I... I... Alright," Erik stammered. _"I can't believe she wants me to eat with her!" _he thought, _"Perhaps the seemingly hopeless dreams I have harbored these past few months are actually coming __true! Maybe she can learn to love me for myself! Oh, to be loved at last... How wonderful that would be... No, no, no, no, no! Erik must __**never**__ hope for such things! Hope is difficult to build, but terribly easy to shatter. But Christine is gentle and kind! She would never shatter her poor Erik's hope like that, would she? Oh, Erik indulges in fantasy too much! What is he to her? A corpse. Erik is nothing but a __corpse." _The sound of Christine's voice shook him from his gloomy thoughts.

"Erik? What is wrong?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Nothing, my dear," he replied promptly.

"Then why are you crying?" she said, reaching out her hand to gently wipe away his tears.

"I... I didn't even notice," he said, "Now what would you like for breakfast?" Christine smiled.

"How about Crepes Suzette?" she asked. He nodded, stood, picked up his mask, and walked over to the dresser.

"If you don't mind, miss Christine, I should like to dress in private," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Christine blushed and quickly left the room, then returned to her own chamber where she prepared herself for the day.

Erik closed his eyes and let out a shuddering sigh before beginning to dress. He made certain to look his best, wanting Christine to know him as a gentleman rather than the pathetic sobbing heap he had been acting like lately. Oh, it felt heavenly to have the years of longing for motherly comfort being fulfilled at last, but he wanted to show Christine that he was capable of more. _"I can love just as passionately as any young vicompte," _he thought as he combed his few locks of black hair into place. He reached for his mask, but as he was about to put it on he had an idea. He opened a drawer in which he kept various items used for repairing his clothing and took out a pair of sewing scissors. Smiling, he cut off just enough of the mask so that his mouth would show. _"Now I can eat without looking like a fool or being dependent on Christine," _he thought, _"Oh, it felt lovely to have her feed me, but I know she will appreciate not having to do it again. No beautiful creature such as her should ever have to go through that twice."_ He placed the modified mask over his face and smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He then went to the kitchen and began cooking breakfast.

When Christine walked into the dining room, Erik had just finished setting the table. She was wearing a simple yellow dress with a flowery pattern, and Erik thought she looked to be the very essence of spring.

"You look lovely, Christine," he said, "A bit of sunshine in my darkened world." She smiled at him, and he felt his pulse quicken.

"Thank you," she said, "And I like what you've done with your mask." He smiled.

"As do I. It's better for singing, and more practical if we're going to be eating together," he said, pulling out her chair for her. She sat down, and he took the seat across from her. They ate in silence for a few moments, neither quite sure of what to say. Erik kept making furtive glances at Christine, and when at last she caught him he quickly looked down at his Crepes Suzette, causing Christine to let out a stifled giggle.

"Erik," she said through her laughter, "It's not a crime to look at me. This silence is quite overbearing. Let's talk." He looked at her, as if trying to think of something to say.

"What was your childhood like?" he said at last, proud that he had found something to discuss. A wistful look came over Christine's face.

"Well," she began, "I was born in a little market-town not very far from Upsala. My Papa was a wonderful violinist. I remember how he would always be invited to go and play at weddings and festivals. He taught me the scales before I learned my letters. I don't remember my Mama much, only that she was kind and very, very beautiful. She died when I was six, and Papa sold our house and took me away to Upsala where he hoped to make a living playing his violin. However, he made little money, so we returned to the countryside. We lived in poverty, wandering from fair to fair. He would play his violin and I would sing. Fortune smiled upon us once more one day at Ljimby Fair, when Professor Valerius happened to hear us. He said Papa was the greatest violinist in the world and that I would one day become a great singer. He provided for my musical education, and I advanced very quickly. When Professor Valerius and his wife moved to France they took Papa and me with them. Mama Valerius treated me as a daughter, and I loved her as the mother I never had. We were happy here at first, but Papa soon grew homesick. He never went outdoors, but stayed shut up in his room with his violin, singing along. It wasn't 'til that summer when we all went to stay at Perros-Guirec that Papa began to feel better. He would go down to the beach and play his violin, and the sea would stop its roaring to listen to his songs. Then, when all the villages were having their summer festivals, Papa and I went and provided music as in the old days back in Sweden, sleeping in barns and traveling from village to village. But unlike the old days we took no money, and had much better clothes to wear. One day, when I was singing, my scarf blew off and into the sea. It was very dear to me, you see, for it had been my mother's. Suddenly, a very well dressed little boy came up to me and said, 'Don't worry, I shall fetch it for you,' and ran into the water before anyone could stop him! He came back, soaked to the bone, with my scarf clutched firmly in his little hand. That's how I met Raoul, who was spending the summer with his aunt. We grew to be the best of friends that summer, and would go from door to door asking people to tell us stories. At the insistence of Raoul's aunt, Papa began teaching him to play the violin, and in the evenings he would tell us dark stories of the North. These stories were the best of all, and always in the stories there appeared the Angel of Music. Papa promised me that when he was in Heaven he would send that particular angel to me, and I believe he has, in a way." She looked at Erik.

"I know you aren't a real angel, Erik," she said, "But you needed me and I needed you, and perhaps God has brought us together for that reason." She smiled at him, and he timidly returned the gesture.

"Would you like a singing lesson this morning, my angel?" he asked with a grin. She laughed and nodded, and they made their way to the sitting room. Erik walked over to the piano and seated himself on the bench, and Christine stood at his side.

"Let's start with some scales" he said, placing his bony fingers delicately upon the ivory keys. She obeyed, and they spent two hours at the piano together. At last Erik said that that was enough for the day, and to his surprise Christine sat down beside him on the bench.

"Do you mind?" she asked.

"Not at all, my dear," he replied, and began to play a slow, gentle waltz. Christine listened for a few moments with her eyes closed, a look of rapture on her face. Then her eyes shot open and with a sudden gasp she grabbed hold of his arm.

"Erik, let's dance!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I, I don't know how," he stammered, his palms beginning to sweat.

"It's easy," Christine said, pulling him to his feet, "I'll show you!" She led him to the center of the room and took one of his trembling, skeletal hands in hers and guided the other to rest at her waist. She heard Erik let out a soft gasp and saw his golden eyes widen. She placed her free hand on his shoulder.

"Now we go like this," she said, beginning to dance, "One two three, one two three, one two three. Now you lead." _"This seems simple enough," _Erik thought, imitating her steps. He began to hum a waltz, and they danced around the room. Christine was smiling up at him, and seemed not to care how much his hands trembled or how many times he stepped on her toes, at once apologizing profusely only to do it again a few minutes later.

"You're a wonderful dancer," she said, once he had gotten the hang of keeping his feet to himself. He felt himself blush at the compliment and was once again thankful the mask covered his cheeks.

"Thank you, Christine," he said. They continued dancing for another half an hour. When the clock struck one, Erik slowed to a stop, but did not take his hands off of Christine.

"I suppose it's lunchtime," he said awkwardly.

"I suppose," said Christine, smiling at him dreamily.

"And I suppose we should let go now," he said.

"I suppose," she replied, but instead of letting go she slipped her arms around him and pulled him to her in a hug. Erik stood there awkwardly for a moment with his arms out to his sides, then slowly put them about Christine and let his chin rest on the top of her head.

The moment was interrupted by an alarm, causing Erik to curse.

"Damn that man!" he said, pulling out of Christine's arms.

"What man?" asked Christine, utterly confused as to what was going on.

"It's nice to see you too, Erik," said the Persian, walking into the room.


	7. Company

"What the _hell _are you doing here, Daroga?" Erik said, "You promised, Nadir! You promised you would never again interfere in Erik's affairs!"

"That was before you took to kidnapping young sopranos," Nadir replied calmly, "Honestly, Erik. Did you not expect that there would be some sort of trouble over all this? That childhood friend of hers has been worried sick! Everyone thought him mad with his ravings of angels and geniuses, but I knew differently. You cannot continue to hold the girl against her will, Erik!" Erik was fuming.

"SHE IS HERE OF HER OWN VOLITION!" he shouted, his normally angelic voice distorted with rage, "SHE SAID SHE WOULD STAY WITH ME! I TOLD HER SHE DID NOT HAVE TO, BUT SHE SAID SHE WOULD STAY! SHE HAS KISSED MY FOREHEAD, DAROGA! SHE SAID SHE WOULD STAY!"

"Is this true, mademoiselle?" the Persian said, turning to Christine with a look of surprise on his face, "Are you really here of your own free will?" Erik turned to her, his eyes pleading with her to say yes. She knew that if she wanted to she could go back, but Erik's heart would break if she left him. She nodded.

"I appreciate your concern, monsieur, but I am quite happy here with Erik," she said, "He has been nothing but kind to me, and you may tell Raoul not to worry, for I am quite safe as you can tell." Erik collapsed at Christine's feet, sobbing with relief.

"Thank you, Christine!" he cried, "Thank you! Thank you!" Nadir looked on as Christine knelt beside Erik and tried to calm his tears. He had never seen his friend in such a vulnerable state before, and hoped he would never have to again.

_"So much for looking dignified," _Erik thought as Christine stroked his hair, _"How am I ever to show her that I am a man rather than a sniveling child? But oh, sweet heaven! She said she was __**happy **__here with Erik! __**Happy! **__Oh, her happiness is nothing compared to mine!"_ He suddenly recalled Nadir's presence and sat up quickly, turning to face him.

"As for _you, _sir," he began.

"Won't you join us for lunch?" Christine interrupted. Both Erik and the Daroga stared at her in disbelief.

"_What?_" they exclaimed in unison.

"Well, he did go to all the trouble of coming down here," said Christine, "And we were about to make lunch anyway, so..." She trailed off. Erik sighed.

"Alright," he grumbled. She smiled and gave him a quick hug.

"I'll cook this time," she said, "You two can chat." With this she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Erik to fend for himself. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence, but at last Erik decided to break the ice.

"Won't you sit down, Nadir?" he asked, gesturing to a chair.

"Gladly," said the Daroga. They sat down and spent another minute or so just looking at each other.

"So," Nadir said at last, "You've finally gotten what you always wanted, eh old friend?" Erik paused.

"Well, not quite," he said softly, "But more than I had ever hoped for. She's so _gentle, _Nadir! The way she treats me, it's like a dream. You can't imagine how it felt to have her kiss my forehead. It was the most wondrous thing this wretched body of mine has ever experienced! She taught me to waltz today, Daroga. Who would have ever guessed? I, the living corpse, waltzing with a woman!"

"I'm happy for you, Erik," said Nadir with a smile, "You deserve a bit of joy after the miserable life you've led. Are you going to ask her to marry you?" Erik chuckled.

"I don't think I could work up the nerve," he said, "If she said no, I'd die of misery. If she said yes, I'd die of joy. And even if I survived, what of the honeymoon? Would she even let me near her? If she did, I know I'd be a disappointment. I know nothing of the art of love, and even if I did, I'm an old man, Daroga. I don't think I'd be able to give her what she deserves. Do you think-"

"Erik!" said Nadir, cutting him off, "This matter is entirely between you and Christine! You will discuss it with her when the time comes, but leave me out of it!"

"Sorry old friend," Erik said with a wry chuckle, "I'm just nervous, that's all. I love her, Nadir, sometimes so much it hurts." The Daroga nodded, putting a hand to his chin in thought.

"Does _she _love _you,_ Erik?" Nadir asked. Erik sighed, slumping down a bit in his chair.

"I believe," he said softly, "That she could one day _come_ to love me. I'm so close, Nadir, so close I can almost taste it! There are times when I look at her, and she looks at me, and I think she's going to say it, but then something happens and she doesn't. When you came in, I could've sworn she was going to whisper those three sweet words in my ear. Just like you to interrupt something like that, Daroga." Nadir grinned.

"Glad to oblige," he said, "But Erik, you must understand. The girl needs _time. _You can't expect her to love you immediately. And people up above are quite worried. I highly doubt the De Chagny boy is going to take my word about Christine being safe. You really should let her return to the surface, if only for a little while. It would calm people down a great deal."

"And then what? Steal her away again?" Erik exclaimed, "She'll surely be asked questions as to where she was, and she can't very well say, can she? And what if I should loose her to some handsome young man? This childhood friend, Raoul, just may turn into something more! Would you be so cruel as to take away from me the only joy I've ever experienced?" He was glaring daggers at Nadir, who only shook his head sadly. At that very moment, Christine walked into the room.

"Lunch is ready," she said, looking worriedly from Erik to Nadir and back again, "Erik, you have not yet properly introduced me to your friend." Erik rolled his eyes.

"Ah yes, we must always observe social custom, even when five stories underground," he grumbled, "Christine Daae, may I present to you Nadir Khan, Persian chief of police and my eternal torment. Nadir, this is Mademoiselle Christine Daae, rising star of the Palais Garnier and most angelic Margarita ever to set foot on a stage." Nadir tipped his hat.

"A pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle," he said.

"Likewise, monsieur Kahn," she responded.

"Well," said Erik, rising to his feet, "Now that that's been taken care of, let's see about lunch, shall we?" They made their way to the dining room, where Christine had set three places: one at the head of the table and one to either side. Erik took the seat at the head of the table and Nadir took the seat at his right. Christine began to serve the food. She doled out helpings of peas, mashed potatoes, and chicken sufficient to feed soldiers. Erik stared at his plate.

"Christine, this is too much," he said.

"Erik, you need to eat. Just as much as you can, of course, but please try. You're so thin," she replied, looking at him with concern. Erik couldn't refuse that look. He swore to himself that he would try to put on some weight, if only to please Christine.

"Alright," he muttered, picking up his spoon and shoving a bite of peas in his mouth. She smiled at him and began to eat as well. Nadir grinned and shook his head.

"You're the only person I've ever seen who can make him eat, miss Christine," he said with amazement, "You have a gift." Erik growled, taking a sip of wine.

"Thank you, monsieur," she said with a smile, "So, how are things above? Are you acquainted with Madame Valerius? I've been worried about her."

"No, I do not know her," said Nadir, glancing sideways at Erik who glared back at him, then hung his head.

"Would... would you like to pay her a visit, Christine?" Erik choked out, his heart breaking with every word he spoke. He looked up at Christine, whose face was bright and hopeful.

"Oh Erik, you'd really take me to see her?" she asked him, beaming, "That would mean so much to me." His jaw dropped.

"You want... _m-me_ to take you?" he stammered. Christine's face fell.

"That is, unless you don't want to," she said, "If you'd rather I go up alone I will, but I thought..." She sighed.

"No!" cried Erik, "No, of course I'll take you! I thought you didn't want me along! Oh Christine, you continue to amaze me every day. You would really allow yourself to be seen in public with a monster like me?"

"You're not a monster, Erik," she said, taking his hand, "You're my friend. My very dear friend. You shouldn't have to hide. Might we go see Mama Valerius tomorrow?" Erik nodded. He couldn't stop smiling! _"She called me her friend!"_ he thought, _"Her very __**dear **__friend! And she wants me with her! Oh, I'll be just like a normal man on a visit! With Christine at my side I could do it, I'm sure."_

_ "I'm so glad I could get him to come with me," _thought Christine, _"He needs social interaction, and it's best to start out with something easy like a visit to Mama Valerius. Oh, they're going to get on quite well, I just know it! She was the only one I felt I could tell about my Angel of Music. That is, until Raoul eavesdropped. Oh Raoul, I wonder why he's so worried about me?"_

"This food is delicious," said Nadir, "You truly are a marvelous cook. It shouldn't be too difficult to get Erik to eat if all your cooking tastes like this!" Christine smiled and looked over at Erik's plate. He had eaten about a third of his chicken and most of his peas. It was impossible to tell how much, if any, he had consumed of his mashed potatoes, as he was sculpting them into an intricate structure with his fork. Christine put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. Nadir, however was not so successful. When he glanced over to see what was amusing Christine he burst out laughing, startling Erik and causing him to jerk the fork and create a jagged line down the side of his creation. He scowled at Nadir.

"Erik," said Christine as politely as she could, "It's very lovely, but it's not good manners to play with your food. Perhaps clay would be better suited to your purpose?" This statement caused Nadir to laugh even harder, nearly falling out of his chair.

"Oh, my friend," he said when he had at last calmed down, "You're always working on something, aren't you?" Erik glowered at him silently from behind his mask. Sensing trouble, Christine tried to direct the discussion elsewhere.

"Would anyone like dessert?" she asked, "I made some little cakes."

"That sounds excellent!" said Nadir. Erik nodded. Christine rose and went into the kitchen to fetch the cakes. She returned momentarily carrying a tray and placed it down between the three of them. Nadir reached over and took a cake, placing it in his mouth. Erik hesitated, then took one as well.

"These are delicious!" said Nadir, taking a second one. Christine smiled.

"Thank you," she said, then helped herself to one of the cakes. Erik had finished his, and sat there licking his fingertips.

"Christine, I'd never thought that eating could actually be so... enjoyable," he said, smiling at her.

"How could it be otherwise, with _her _cooking?" said Nadir with a grin, pulling out his pocket watch, "Well, I'm afraid I must be going. Enjoy your afternoon." Christine bid him good-bye and Erik walked him to the door.

"Daroga," Erik hissed, "You are my friend, but in the future I should like to have Christine's company, and her cooking, to myself." Nadir laughed.

"Alright my friend," he said, "I won't be popping by again anytime soon. Take good care of yourself, and her."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Erik said, "I shall protect her with my life. Good day, Daroga."

"Good day, Erik," Nadir responded, then turned and left. Erik returned hurriedly to the dining room, where he found Christine clearing plates from the table.

"Christine," he said, laying a hand on her arm, "Let Erik do that. You should not have to work. After all, you already did the cooking." He proceeded to take over the clearing of the table, removing all of the dishes and washing them in the sink before drying them and placing them in the cabinet. He turned and smiled at Christine.

"Thank you for making lunch," he said, "Erik is very grateful. Is there any way he can repay you?" Christine smiled.

"Erik," she said, "You don't need to repay me, it is _I _who should be repaying _you! _So far, you've been doing all the cooking. It's only fair that I should help out." She closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him.

"C-Christine," he stammered, unsure of what to do. She leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes.

"Thank you so much for offering to take me to see Mama Valerius tomorrow," she said softly, "It was very kind of you. You've always been kind to me, Erik. I just wanted to thank you for that." With that she pulled back, smiled at him, then turned and left the room.


	8. Concerto

**A/N: Life at last! Salutations from the other side! Yep, I'm finally back from the dead. What I thought to be a bad case of writer's block turned out to be something I could only cure with revision, and things have begun flowing again now that I realized that I made Christine fall for him too fast. : I hope you'll enjoy version two!**

Erik stood there in the kitchen, utterly stunned by what had just happened. Slowly, a grin spread across his face, and he ran to his bedroom, hurriedly pulling out a quill, an ink well, and some blank sheet music and sitting down at his organ. He'd had the sudden inspiration for a new concerto, and as he began composing, it revealed itself to be by far the most joyful piece of music he had ever written. He worked all afternoon until, lost in his music, he fell asleep slumped over on the organ's keys. This was how Christine discovered him upon entering his room that evening to ask him what he should like for supper.

_"Poor dear Erik," _she thought with a smile, _"He's fallen asleep at his work. I'll let him rest a bit longer." _She was about to leave, when she suddenly spied his diary resting on the bedside table. Hesitantly, she walked over and picked it up.

_"I know I shouldn't be doing this," _she thought as she made her way into the sitting room and sat down in an armchair, _"But I can't help it! I'm just curious by nature." _She leafed through the pages until she found the place where she had left off.

_November 28_

_Christine is very good to her poor monstrous Erik. Today, as Erik sat reading in the library, Christine came to him, **came** to **him!** She willingly sought out her monster's presence! She walked right by him, and even offered him a smile! Another smile, for Erik! She sat and read, and Erik did also, or so he made her believe. For Erik is a very clever fellow, and by a trick of turning the pages every so often and peeking over the edge of his book, he was able to glut his poor eyes upon Christine's divine beauty for hours on end! Oh, Erik's eyes are very hungry creatures. They have seen little beauty in their life, and Christine was indeed a very good girl to allow them such a feast. Her golden hair framed her face, like an angel's halo, and if Erik imagined hard enough, he could just picture what it would look like worn down! Oh, such a lovely sight that would be. But Christine would never let down her hair for her poor Erik! She is much too good for that. But Erik can dream his sinful dreams as much as he likes, for Christine shall never know!_

Christine's eyes widened, reading Erik's indecent thoughts. _"He was imagining me with my hair down?" _she thought, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment, _"The cad! Still, at least he knows I would never do such a thing. He's always seemed so innocent! I can't believe he would have such... sultry thoughts! But he is a man, of course. Perhaps all men think such things. He has a right to be a man, does he not? And I __**wanted**__ to know what he thinks. At least he is a gentleman, and would never willingly tell me of such fantasies."_

_November 29_

_Christine is too good to be true! She discovered Erik's diary, and he despaired, thinking she would hate him after what she had read, but no! She came to his room and comforted him, even going so far as to slip her dear, gentle fingers under his mask! And when the mask slipped away, she did not shriek! She did not even react, but continued to stroke Erik's poor misshapen face with those beautiful, soft hands! Oh, how wonderfully gentle she was with her poor monster. She even told him he would no longer have to be alone! And then, oh, the way she dressed for dinner! Erik's heart nearly stopped in his chest. He has never **seen **anything so beautiful! Then came a delightful surprise; she asked him to join her at the table! But alas, Erik could not eat with his mask on, and made a fool of himself trying to eat with his face covered by a napkin. Then, most wonderful of all, Christine took pity on Erik's plight and **fed him ****his dinner! **Oh, it was wonderful to be pampered in such a way! It reminded me of Persia, where the gentlemen of the court would order their slave girls to feed them grapes and figs rolled in honey and other such delights. Erik thought it a silly custom at the time, but now he finds it rather appealing! Oh, Christine is no slave girl, to be sure, but it was lovely to have her putting little morsels into my mouth. The joys and kindnesses did not end there, however. When I had finished eating, she took the napkin and **wiped my lips!** Oh, Erik has never in his life experienced the joy of kissing a woman, but Christine has brought him closer to that unknowable ecstasy than ever before! Only the napkin separated her soft, beautiful skin from my desperate, corpse-like lips. Lips that despair of ever meeting hers in a sweet moment of bliss. One tender kiss from Christine would send Erik into fits of ecstasy. How often has he daydreamed of that sweet moment when he might be allowed to lose control and groan as her mouth met his? But Erik is getting off track! The joys of this evening did not end at the supper table, oh no! Christine and Erik went to the sitting room, and the darling angel went so far as to sit beside him and take his hand in hers! As if this were not enough, she removed his glove, and placed his poor bony hand upon her cheek! It was one of Erik's dreams come true, right before his eyes! Her face is smooth as silk, as beautiful to touch as it is to behold. Oh, and as if Erik's day could not get any better, she offered to help him with his nightmares! Erik declined, however, for he respects his angel's undying virtue entirely too much to ask to sleep at the foot of her bed. With all this mercy being shown to Erik today, what sublime ecstasy shall tomorrow bring?_

The entries to the diary ended there. Since there was no mention of Christine's coming in later that night or the events that had so far transpired today, Christine gathered that Erik must write his diary entries right before bed. _"Poor, poor Erik!" _she thought as she snuck quietly into his bedroom and put the diary back exactly the way she had found it, _"He's so desperate for affection! He has needs like any other human being. The need to be loved, to be held, to be kissed! Oh, my poor Erik."_ As she thought this, she walked over to the organ where Erik was sleeping. She put her hands on his shoulders, intending to shake him awake, then paused. She decided being shaken was a rather unpleasant way to wake up, and instead began to massage his thin, bony shoulders.

Erik groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He had no idea what was going on, only that something was rubbing and squeezing his sore back muscles in a very pleasurable way.

"Hello, Erik," he heard Christine say, "Did you have a nice nap?"

"Oh... Christine... Yes..." he hissed.

"Yes, you had a nice nap?" she asked, bemused.

"What? Oh... I don't know... Keep doing that..." he mumbled groggily. Christine giggled, but continued to massage his back.

"Does this feel good?" she asked.

"You have no idea," he groaned, "Sleeping on an organ... bad for the back... ohh..." Suddenly, something seemed to click in Erik's brain, and he jumped.

"Erik is sorry, Christine!" he cried, scrambling to his feet, "He did not mean to ask for more! Please forgive him!" With this he fell to his knees before her.

"Calm down, Erik," Christine said softly, kneeling down and stroking his hair, "It's alright. There is no harm done. What would you like me to make for supper?"

"But, Christine has done enough work today! She already cooked her poor Erik a delicious lunch, she must rest and let him do the work! Yes, Christine must rest. What would she like Erik to make?" Christine smiled at him and shook her head.

"Let me cook," she said, "I'll make anything you like. What is your favorite thing to eat, Erik? You deserve a good meal." Erik shifted awkwardly, looking down at his hands.

"When Erik was young, and he had been very good and not bothered Mother in a very long time, perhaps a week, she would treat him to a vegetable stew made with six different kinds of vegetables. Erik counted. There was corn, carrots, potatoes, peas, celery, and onions. That is the food that Erik likes the best," he said. Christine smiled and took his hands in hers.

"I'll make it then," she said, "And we shall eat together." Erik smiled shyly at her and nodded.

"Erik would like that very much," he said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Christine stroked his hair one last time, then stood and walked to the kitchen to begin preparing the food. Erik climbed back onto the organ bench and went back to work on his concerto. He was just adding the finishing touches now, tweaking a few notes here, adding a measure there. His plan was to show it to Christine after dinner. _"If music be the food of love, play on," _he thought with a smile, signing his name at the bottom of the last page, _"Christine adored her Angel of Music, perhaps she could learn to love Erik if he played his music for her! Oh, at last Erik has a way to woo his angel! Now, to find a title for my concerto of courtship. Aha!" _Smiling widely, he scrawled the title across the top of the first page.

"The Spring Rose," he whispered, before rising and making his way to the dining room, where he found Christine setting down the bowls of soup. She looked up at him and smiled.

"How on Earth did you know that dinner was ready?" she asked. He shrugged and pulled out the chair for her to sit down. She did, and he pushed it in, before going around the table to sit across from her. He raised his glass.

"To Christine," he said softly, a slight smile on his face, "Who has been so very good to Erik. He has written a concerto for her, which he would like to show her after dinner." Christine's eyes widened.

"For me?" she asked. Surprise was written all over her face, and Erik found it quite endearing. His smile widened and he nodded.

"Christine has inspired Erik's music. He would like her to hear what he has written, if it pleases her to do so," he said, looking at her hopefully.

"Of course, Erik," she said, with a smile that made his heart flutter. He began to eat his soup. After a few bites, his eyes filled with tears, and he began to cry.

"What is wrong? Christine asked, hurrying around to Erik's side of the table and taking his hand.

"Erik, Erik misses her, Christine," he sobbed, "Erik misses his mother. She never loved him, never held him close, but he misses her so very very much. These last few days, you've made Erik feel so happy. It's as if you were taking Mother's place, giving him the kindness he's always prayed to receive. Thank you, Christine." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close.

"It's alright, Erik," she said softly, "I'm here for you. I'll make you this soup every night, if you like. Anything to help." He leaned against her, breathing deeply to try and calm himself.

"Thank you, Christine," he said at last, raising his head to look at her, "Erik is sorry for being so emotional."

"Don't be," she replied, smiling down at him, "You're a human being. It's natural to express your emotions." He smiled back at her. She returned to her chair and sat down, taking a bite of soup. Erik began to eat as well. Within a few minutes he had finished his bowl of soup. He looked at Christine.

"Would, would it be possible for Erik to have another helping?" he asked nervously.

"Of course!" Christine said with a smile, "Erik, you're eating more! I can't believe it! I'm very proud of you." He shifted awkwardly in his chair and averted his eyes.

"Th-thank you," he mumbled. Christine took his bowl into the kitchen and filled it, then returned and set it down in front of Erik once more. He succeeded in devouring a total of three bowls of soup.

"Christine," he said as he set down his spoon in the empty bowl, "Erik has never eaten so well in his entire life. You are surely the best cook in all the world!" She laughed.

"Don't be silly," she said, "There are far better cooks in this world than I. Do you want any more?" He shook his head.

"Erik is full and happy," he said, "If he eats any more, he shall be uncomfortable. Would you like to hear the concerto now?" He was looking at her eagerly and hopefully.

"Alright," she said. Erik led her excitedly to the organ. He pulled over a chair and gestured for Christine to sit down. She obliged, and he hurried over to the organ and began to play.

The piece surprised Christine a great deal. _"This is not at all like his Don Juan Triumphant!" _she thought, recalling what she had heard of that fiery and passionate opera from behind Erik's closed door, _"Whereas Don Juan is dark and dramatic, this composition seems to be light and... rejoicing, even! How incredible that one man can write two pieces of music that are so very different! He said this new concerto was written for me. Can it be that **I **am the reason for his expression of joy?"_ She continued to ponder these things for a time, but soon became caught up in the music. It filled her mind, and in that moment she understood Erik's joy, and shared in it. As the last strains of music faded away, Erik turned to her, fixing her with his golden eyes.

"Was it to your liking?" he asked hopefully.

"Oh, it was beautiful!" she exclaimed, "I don't believe I've ever _heard_ anything quite so lovely in all my life! Oh Erik, why are you not up above, sharing your music with the world? People would come from miles around to hear it, I'm sure!" Erik chuckled at her childlike enthusiasm.

"You are forgetting, my dear, that Erik does not look as other men do," he said, "Up above, no one would publish a masked musician. I have no backing, no credibility, no advocate. There is no one who would be willing to help me." Christine was quiet for a long moment, pondering what he had said. She wanted to help her maestro gain the prestige and glory he deserved, just as he had helped her. She had no way of doing this herself, but she knew someone who might. This person was Mama Valerius, who had many connections, as she and her late husband had been very influential in the art world many years ago.

"Erik," she said at last, "I may know someone who could help you. Mama Valerius, the woman I've told you about, has a great many friends in publishing, as well as the management of theaters all over Paris. At least, she did at one time. When we visit her tomorrow, we could ask her if there is anyone she knows who would be willing to publish your music." Erik blinked.

_"This is my chance!" _he thought, _"I could finally share my music with the world, show them all what music really __**means**__! But what if it goes wrong? What if the publisher won't even __**look**__ at it? What if people hate my music once they learn about my face? Oh, but Christine... She's offering to help me. I've never accepted help from anyone, except Nadir, and that was not by choice. I've always been strong, able to fight for myself. If Erik accepted Christine's help, would she think him a spineless weakling? Oh, it is likely that she thinks of him that way already, considering the way he has been acting lately. But the chance to share my music with the world... To walk in the light instead of always hiding in the shadows..."_

"Yes," he said, his mouth making the final decision for him, "We shall ask her."


	9. A Lovely Visit

**A/N: See, it's not that different. Just a little. :)**

Erik awoke the next morning in a state of anxiety. This would be the first formal visit he had made in his entire life, and he was feeling nervous. _"Should I wear my mask, or simply the false nose? Which would frighten an elderly woman the least? Oh, how should __**I **__know anything about elderly women in the first place? Perhaps it would be best to let Christine choose." _Thus decided, he donned his finest attire, combed his sparse amount of hair, and made his way to the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast.

Christine emerged from her room a few minutes later and followed the smell of sizzling bacon to the kitchen. She wore a red velvet dress with white lace trim at the collar and cuffs, and her golden hair was swept up into a tidy bun.

"Good Morning, Maestro," she said softly, coming into the kitchen. Erik turned to face her, his eyes immediately widening at her beauty. He felt his heart flutter within his chest.

"Christine!" he exclaimed, his expression one of joyful rapture, "Good morning to you, my Angel. Erik has a very important question for you this morning." Reaching into his pocket, he produced the false nose.

"Which should Erik wear?" he asked, holding it out to her, "The false nose or the mask? Christine must choose, for Erik does not know."

"The mask, I think," Christine said after a moment's pause.

"Quite right!" he exclaimed, stuffing the nose into his pocket once more before turning back towards the stove, "It is best if Erik covers as much of his hideous face as possible, so that Madame Valerius shall not be frightened."

"Oh, Erik," she said softly, "Poor Erik. She won't be afraid of you at all once I tell her that you are the Angel of Music!"

"But I'm _not _the Angel of Music, Christine!" Erik cried, looking at her confusedly with a frying pan clutched in his hands, "Why should you lie to her that way?"

"No no no, Erik," she replied, "I meant, one I tell her that you are the one who has been teaching me. I told her I was being taught by the Angel of Music, as I truly thought I was. But now she is to know as I do, that the Angel is a man."

"Do you think she will be angry with me for deceiving you so?" he asked as he placed the eggs and bacon onto the plates.

"I think not," said Christine, "In fact, I think she shall like you very much." She smiled at Erik, who returned the gesture shyly before carrying the plates into the dining room and setting them upon the table. They sat down and began to eat.

"Erik is nervous," he confessed after a few minutes, "He has never been on a visit before."

"Don't worry," she replied with a comforting smile, "I'll be right there to help you along, and Mama is the sweetest old woman. She won't harm you, rest assured."

"Oh, I'm not worried about _that,_" he said with a small laugh, "I just hope she isn't too critical of my manners. Erik's etiquette may not be up to date, you see."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Christine replied, finishing the last of her eggs and wiping her mouth daintily with a napkin. Erik had already finished his breakfast.

"Shall we be off then?" he asked, "And perhaps after our visit Christine would enjoy a shopping trip. Erik has plenty of money, and Christine deserves a reward for being so good to him these past few days."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," she protested.

"Erik insists."

"Well, alright then."

Erik donned his hat and gloves and he and Christine made their way up through the maze of corridors and tunnels to the little gate on the rue Scribe. Much to his surprise and delight, Christine offered him her arm. He stared at her for a moment in awe before taking it, and together they emerged into the sunlight.

Erik hailed a cab, and Christine told the driver the address. They made good time, and were there within about twenty minutes. Erik paid the driver and they disembarked, Christine practically running up to the door of the building. A small smile graced Erik's lips as he followed her up a few flights of stairs and down the hall towards the old woman's flat.

_"How full of life she is," _he thought to himself, _"Is it not ironic that a corpse such as I should lose his cold, dead heart to one such as she?" _Christine rang at the door, and a moment later it was answered by a maid who very nearly dropped the tea tray she was holding.

"Miss Christine!" the young woman exclaimed, "Madame will be very pleased to see you! You must forgive us, there is another visitor here today as well."

"Oh?" Christine asked as the maid ushered them in, "Who is it?" The young woman grinned.

"Come and see," she said, leading the two of them back towards the bedroom. As they drew nearer, they began to hear voices. One sounded as if it belonged to an elderly woman. The other was that of a young man, and he seemed quite frantic.

"But I don't know anything about it!" cried the man, "And why can't Christine marry?"

"Because of the Angel of Music, of course!" responded the old woman.

"I don't follow..."

"Yes, he forbids her to!"

"He forbids her!" came the frenzied response, "The Angel of Music forbids her to marry!"

"Oh, he forbids her... without forbidding her. It's like this: he tells her that, if she ever got married, she would never hear him again. That's all! And he would go away forever! So, you understand, she can't let the Angel of Music go. It's quite natural."

At this very moment, the maid walked in through the door with the tea tray.

"Excuse me Madame, but you have more visitors," the young woman said.

"Who else could it possibly be?" the old woman asked. In response, the maid opened the door and ushered Christine and Erik into the room.

"Christine!" cried the young man, leaping to his feet. She gasped.

"Raoul!" she exclaimed, "What a surprise!" Erik glared venomously at the young vicomte from behind his mask, fingering the thin punjab lasso he carried beneath his jacket.

"My dear girl," said Madame Valerius, reaching out her hands towards Christine, "What has happened? Has your good Angel returned you to us already? And who is this gentleman?" She turned her gaze towards Erik.

"Oh Mamma," sighed Christine, taking the old woman's hands, "This man _is _the Angel. Well, not a _real _angel of course, but he is the one I have told you about."

"How can this be?" asked Mamma Valerius, "How can your Angel be a man?"

"Well," Christine said, "He hid behind my dressing room walls and taught me to sing, claiming to be the Angel of Music so I would not be frightened. Oh Mamma, he truly is very kind and gentle. But forgive me! I have not properly introduced you! Monsieur le Vicomte, Madame Valerius, may I present Erik, my maestro and dear friend." Erik bowed stiffly.

"Erik?" Raoul asked in confusion, "Have you no surname, Monsieur?"

"No," Erik replied, before turning towards Christine and Mamma Valerius, "Madame, it is an honor."

"Come here, Monsieur Erik," the old woman said, releasing one of Christine's hands and reaching out towards him, "My dear Christine has told me of her Angel a good many times. I had thought I should never get to meet him as long as I lived, but now I do!" Erik approached her bedside cautiously, allowing the old woman to clasp his gloved hand in hers.

"Christine," Raoul said, "Have you thought at all about my proposal?" Erik whirled around, seething with jealousy.

"Monsieur," he said darkly, "You heard Madame Valerius. Christine cannot marry, _for the Angel __of Music forbids it!"_

"Christine can do as she pleases!" cried the vicomte, "She is not your marionette!" Christine moved between the two men, trying desperately to diffuse the situation.

"Erik! Raoul! This is no way to behave on a proper visit!" she cried, as if scolding two naughty children, "Raoul, you are correct. I may indeed do as I please. But Erik is also correct, for I cannot marry as of yet."

"But Christine," Raoul pleaded, "Don't you see? _There is no Angel of Music! _So you need not fear losing him!"

"I do not fear losing my Angel!" Christine very nearly shouted, "What I fear is... What I fear is... is..." The poor girl had no time to finish her statement, for she had fainted dead away and collapsed directly into the arms of poor Raoul.


	10. Lunch

**A/N: Hi y'all! I'm still having some clogged idea tubes, so if y'all have any suggestions, I'll gladly consider. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews!**

What happened next can only be described as a moment of complete and utter panic. Madame Valerius looked on in concern as Raoul lay Christine down on the divan and went to fetch the maid. Erik fussed over the poor girl, wringing his hands and beseeching her to awaken.

"Please, Christine!" he begged, "Oh, Erik is terribly sorry! Please wake up!"

"Stand aside, you fool!" Raoul said, running back into the room and carrying a bottle of smelling salts. He was closely followed by the maid, who stood nervously off to the side. Raoul held the bottle under Christine's nose. She scrunched her face, making a little noise of protest before her eyes fluttered open.

"Are you alright, Christine?" the Vicomte asked, a look of concern upon his boyish face. She blinked once or twice before answering.

"Yes... fine, thank you," she replied, " But where is Erik?" At this Raoul frowned, and Erik hurriedly knelt down at her side once more.

"I am here, my Christine," he said reverently, "I am glad you are awake." She smiled and took his gloved hand in hers, before sitting up and adjusting her hair.

"I'm terribly sorry," she apologized, "Perhaps a cup of tea..." Erik was already on his feet and pouring her a cup, preparing it just the way she liked with cream and two lumps of sugar. He placed it on a saucer before handing it to Christine and taking a seat beside her on the divan. She smiled gratefully, and as she drank the hot beverage the color slowly began to return to her cheeks.

"Now tell me Christine," Raoul said gently, "What is it you were saying?" She sighed, looking down at her teacup.

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," she murmured, "I just wanted to take Erik out on a quiet visit to meet Mama Valerius. What I was going to say was not that I fear losing the Angel of Music, for there is no real angel, as you already said. What I fear is losing one of two very good friends whom I love dearly, simply because I cannot love both of them in the same way that they love me."

"So what you are saying," Raoul said, very slowly, as if the words were hurting him, "Is that you do not love me anymore."

"Oh Raoul!" she sighed, "It's not like that at all! I love you dearly, I always have and always will, but I cannot love you as more than a friend. Society forbids it! What would your family think of you marrying a chorus girl?"

"They'd be fine with it!" the young man said firmly, "They don't object to Philippe and Sorelli being together, do they?"

"No," said Christine, "But Sorelli is only Philippe's _mistress,_ Raoul! He's never going to actually _marry_ her! That's why they don't object. But I am an honest woman, Raoul. I reserve myself for my husband and no other man." Raoul hung his head, a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

"I see," he said softly, before wiping his face and looking back at Christine with a small smile.

"Well if all I can be for you is a friend, miss Daae, then I am determined to do so," he said. Christine smiled and took his hand.

"Thank you," she whispered.

_"My God!" _Erik thought, his mouth slightly agape, _"My God, she chose me! Christine has chosen Erik, a feeble old monster, over the handsome boy! Perhaps she finally sees how deeply Erik loves her, and has decided to reward him for his devotion! Heaven! Erik is in Heaven! She has chosen me! Oh, but Erik must not get ahead of himself. She has only refused the Vicomte's proposal, it does not mean she would be willing to accept one of mine."_

"So how have you been, dear child?" asked Madame Valerius, trying to change the subject.

"Quite well, thank you," Christine replied promptly, "Erik has been taking very good care of me."

"I'm glad," the old woman said, "I missed you, Christine. But I knew that if you had gone anywhere, you would be with your good genius." With this she smiled at Erik, who returned the gesture shyly. He was self conscious about having his mouth and chin exposed. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten Christine's guardian with his thin, cracked lips and papery, yellowish-grey skin. Fortunately, these things did not seem to bother the elderly woman in the slightest.

_"Christine was right!" _Erik thought, _"Madame Valerius isn't frightened of me at all! This is splendid! Perhaps, with Christine's help, I could even make a few friends! Of course, I don't particularly __**need **__friends, but it might be rather nice."_

Erik continued to daydream for the rest of the visit. He did not have much to add to the conversation, for Raoul, Christine, and Madame Valerius began to reminisce about old times, talking and laughing for hours. Eventually, however, he was dragged out of his blissful reverie by the voice of the young Vicomte.

"Well Monsieur," Raoul said, holding out his hand, "It was a pleasure to meet you. I trust you will take good care of Christine. I love her, and I can tell by the way you look at her that you feel the same. Take care." Hesitantly, Erik shook the young man's hand. He was still wary of the Raoul, but decided that acting openly hostile towards him would unnecessarily upset Christine, so courtesy was the obvious course of action.

Christine smiled, relieved, as the two men shook hands. _"Thank goodness," _she thought, _"I hadn't expected Raoul to be here, and I'm glad it went so well. I was honestly expecting Erik's jealous temper to get in the way of things, I'm glad he behaved like such a gentleman. And Raoul... Oh, poor Raoul... I care for him, I really do. Perhaps if things had been different, if we had been of the same class... but where would that have left Erik?"_

They all said their goodbyes to Raoul and he departed, leaving Erik, Christine, and Madame Valerius alone. It seemed the moment of truth had arrived.

"Mama Valerius," Christine began, "Do you still have friends in the publishing business?"

"Why, of course, child!" the old woman said with a smile, "What brings this on?"

"Well Erik, my maestro, is a great musician. He wishes to share his music with the world, but he has no one to be his advocate. I was wondering if you might be able to help him get started."

"Why of _course_, dear!" Madame Valerius said, her face lighting up, "I'll help Monsieur Erik find his feet. I shall write at once to my good friend, Monsieur Meursault, and see what he charges for printing these days."

"Oh, thank you, Madame!" Erik exclaimed, "I don't think it is possible for you to imagine what this means to me." Taking her hand, he kissed it, tears welling up in his eyes.

_"This woman neither hates nor fears me," _Erik thought, _"She is willing to help me publish my music and make my way at last into this cruel sunlit world. And Christine... To have her at my side, to have her sing my music for all of Paris... that would be the greatest thing of all..."_

"Please, Monsieur," said Madame Valerius, "It is the least I can do for a man who has done so very much for my dear Christine." She turned to the young girl, beckoning her closer. Christine obliged.

"Tell me a story, my child, as I did for you when you were young," the old woman said, "Tell me the story of you and your good genius. Monsieur Erik, won't you tell also?" Christine smiled.

"I think Erik should begin," she said, "He tells wonderful stories, Mama." Erik gave a small sigh, remembering the happy times when he had told Christine stories. Seeing that the two women were looking at him expectantly, he began to speak.

"Well, once upon a time," he said with a small smile, "There was a beautiful girl named Christine. She spent her days in the Palais Garnier, the royal palace in the Kingdom of Music and Song.

In the dungeon of this palace, there dwelt a man named Erik, who, about four months ago, heard Christine singing after hours. He came up out of the depths to see who that beautiful voice belonged to. It... it was not love at first sight, but rather love at first _hearing._ And then, when I... when he saw how kind she was... I... he... Oh, what's the difference? Erik thought that she might be willing to grant him some of that lovely kindness. Then one night, Erik heard Christine wish for an Angel of Music to come and teach her to sing. Foolish creature that Erik was, he thought he would be content to be a teacher and love her from afar. It took that young Vicomte to make him realize how much he truly cared about the beautiful Christine." He was beet red under the mask, and couldn't look directly at either of the two women. Instead, he looked down at his gloved hands, which were twisting nervously in his lap.

"Well, I suppose it is my turn," Christine said after a moment's pause, "When my prayers for an angel were answered, I was so very happy. I worked very hard to please my Maestro, and when he told me that I was to sing Marguerite, I couldn't contain my joy. No one had tried to help me advance my voice in so many years, and to have the Angel of Music himself tell me I was ready for such a role..." She trailed off, looking over at Erik. His hands were still twisting in his lap, and she reached over and gently placed her own hand atop them.

"I was honored," she said softly, causing him to look up at her at last. She smiled sweetly at Erik, and his ears went red.

_"Does she not know what that smile does to me?" _he thought, _"Oh, she __**must**__ know! How can Erik help but wear his heart on his sleeve when she draws the fool thing out with such kindnesses? I would that she take my heart and keep it safe for me, let the old weary thing beat beside hers. It would fear no rejection there, nestled safely within her bosom."_ Christine turned back towards Madame Valerius, but left her hand on top of Erik's.

"The rest I believe you know," she said, concluding the story. The old woman sighed.

"It really is like a fairy tale, isn't it?" Madame Valerius said, "But it isn't over yet, my child. There's a bit to go before you live happily ever after." Christine nodded. When it came to stories, Mama Valerius knew what she was talking about.

At last it came time for them to leave. Christine hugged Mama Valerius close, promising she and Erik would return soon. Erik kissed the old woman's hand once more with the reverence of a child for a favorite aunt before bidding her adieu and offering his arm to Christine. She took it gladly, and the maid showed them out.

Back on the street, the two of them walked side by side. Erik felt perspiration forming on his forehead under the mask as people stopped and stared. He was filled with fear, terrified that at any moment someone would rip the bit of leather protection from his face. He began to tremble.

Christine felt him shaking and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. He looked at her, saw the reassuring smile on her face, and immediately felt better. _"Christine does not mind," _he thought, _"That is all that matters." _He smiled back at her, and they continued walking down the busy Paris street.

_"I've missed the sunlight," _Christine thought, _"And it's so nice to feel the open air again, even if it is freezing cold. Erik was so kind to take me out today. I'm glad he came along, he needs the sunlight and the air as much as I do, doesn't he? Perhaps he simply doesn't know it."_

"Christine," Erik asked at length, "Is there any particular cafe you enjoy? I should be honored to treat you to lunch."

"Oh Erik, that would be wonderful!" Christine cried, "There's a little place just around this corner." His thin lips twitched into a smile, and as Christine led him towards the cafe, he slipped into thought once more.

_"This feeling, this happiness, is this what normal men feel all the time?" _he wondered, _"Could I, being what I am, ever get used to this? Christine's arm is entwined in mine, her hand resting upon my own. These sweet moments of physical contact, that kiss to my forehead... How could a wretch like me ever ask for more? I am content with this. This is what Erik has dreamed of all his life."_

At last they reached the cafe. Christine led Erik inside and they were seated at a quiet little table by the window. Christine ordered quiche florentine and Erik had quiche lorraine. While they were waiting for their food to arrive, they talked.

"Erik, do you like it up here?" Christine asked. He nodded.

"Yes Christine, but only if Erik can be with _you._ He would never come up on his own unless it was absolutely necessary."

"Do you think we might go away this summer? Perhaps to the sea? I think the salt air would do you good, Erik."

"Go away... w-with you?" he asked, eyes wide with shock and hope, "You... you would take Erik with you? To the sea? For Erik's health? Oh Christine, no one has ever cared about Erik's health before!"

"Yes, dear Erik," she said with a small smile, "Come to the sea with me."

"I will!" he cried, "Oh Christine I will, I will, I will! Erik shall be so happy at the sea with sweet, good Christine to take care of his health. Erik shall be the healthiest man alive if it will please his merciful Christine. And then, perhaps..." He trailed off as the waiter arrived with their food.

"Perhaps...?" she prompted, once the waiter had gone. Erik's expression grew guarded.

"It is nothing, Christine," he said sternly, "Erik has revealed enough."

They ate their lunch and Erik paid, and they left the cafe to continue on their walk. They walked along for a time before a certain window display caught Christine's eye. There was a mannequin clothed in a fine emerald green gown, her hair done up in the latest fashion. In her hand, she clutched a cream colored silk purse that had been covered over in green lace to match the dress. Christine let out a barely audible sigh.

"What is it, my dear?" Erik asked, having heard the tiny puff of air. She blushed, quickly pulling her eyes from the window display and looking back to him.

"Nothing," she replied, "Nothing at all." She tried to keep walking, but Erik had come to a dead halt.

"What is it?" he repeated, looking at her quizzically.

"Well if you must know, I was looking in the window display," she told him.

"Does Christine require a new dress?"

"Oh, no Erik. I'm alright."

"Well, does Christine _want_ a new dress?" he asked.

"Erik, I couldn't-"

"But I can, Christine, and I will." And without further ado, he led Christine into the dressmaker's shop.


	11. In Which There is a Song

The dressmaker raised her eyebrows as she watched a masked man leading a young woman into the shop. She had seen many a peculiar fashion in her day, but nothing as queer as this. Gentlemen in masks, what would be next?

"May I help you?" she asked with a smile.

"Yes," said the masked gentleman, "I should like to purchase that dress in the window and have it fitted for my dear Christine."

"You saw the price of the dress?" the woman asked, her eyebrows arching higher.

"Money is no object," the man in the mask remarked with a quirk of his lips that might have been something akin to a grin. The dressmaker did not find the mask to be quite so queer, now that she was aware of its wearer's fiscal means. Surely a man willing to purchase something so expensive to clothe his lady must know at least a _little_ of the world of fashion. Without further ado she took the dress off of the mannequin and led the blushing young woman into the fitting room.

"What was your name again, dear?" the dressmaker asked as Christine removed her red velvet dress and slipped into the beautiful green gown.

"Christine Daae," she said softly.

"The opera singer?" the dressmaker asked, looking at her wide-eyed, "Good heavens, girl! You're the talk of the town!"

"Really?" Christine asked as the middle-aged woman fetched some pins and began to tuck in the fabric about her waist.

"But of course! You disappeared after such a stunning performance! Rumors are flying, and the Vicomte de Chagny himself has offered a reward for any information leading to your whereabouts. Everyone will be thrilled to hear of your return!" Christine bit her lip.

"Oh dear," she said, "I... I'm really not sure whether I'm back for good. I mean..." She looked out towards the main area of the shop where Erik was waiting.

_"Erik..." _she thought, _"What will happen to him? He's seemed so happy recently. What would happen if I left him, if I returned to the world above? Could I even bear to leave him if I thought that it would make him miserable?" _Her reverie was interrupted by the dressmaker.

"I see," the woman said, nodding in the general direction of the main store, "You've met a man, haven't you?" Christine blushed, and the dressmaker gave a knowing smile.

"Yes, in a way," Christine said, "I have... _met _a man, but I'm not quite sure how I feel about him yet. I... care for him, and I want to love him, but..." She trailed off, slipping into thought once more.

_"Could I ever truly be happy with Erik? To be the wife of such a man... The prospect makes me tremble! But he has been so kind, such a perfect gentleman... He taught me to sing, believed in a chorus girl that no one else took notice of. Could I be so cruel as to shun him after all he has done for me? Oh Erik, my poor Erik... I must not leave him. I must give my angel a fighting chance!"_

When the middle-aged woman had finished pinning the gown, she helped Christine carefully remove it. Christine then slipped back into her red velvet dress, and the two women returned to the main store.

Erik stood exactly where they had left him, near the counter. It was as if he hadn't moved at all in the two hours or so it had taken to pin the dress. When the two women entered the room he turned to them, then frowned.

"Christine, why are you not wearing your dress?" he asked, "Was it not to your liking?"

"The dress is not yet ready, Monsieur," said the dressmaker, her doubts on the mysterious customer's knowledge of fashion returning, "That was just the pinning. I still have to make the alterations, but it should be ready for you to pick up in a week."

"Oh," he said, "Well in that case, I apologize. Christine, shall we be off?" Christine nodded, thanked the dressmaker, and offered her arm to Erik once again before heading out of the shop.

Erik hailed a cab, and asked the driver if he would deposit them at an address a block away from the Opera house. While they rode, he allowed himself to sneak a few glances at his lovely companion as she was staring out of the window. He unwittingly let out a soft sigh, causing Christine to turn and look at him. He hastily muttered an apology before scooting away from her and turning to look out of the window on the other side of the cab. Christine smiled.

"Erik," she said gently, "I am very grateful to you for all that you have done for me. Today has been the best one I have had in a long time."

"You are quite welcome, Mademoiselle!" he exclaimed, turning back towards her in surprise. He had thought her to be put off by the thought of his wretched, hollow eyes gawking at her beauty, and the last thing he was expecting from her was an expression of gratitude!

Christine smiled once more at Erik's enthusiasm. _"He seems so childlike at times," _she thought, _"But I know he has suffered greatly. He must have, on account of his face. No man that looked as Erik does could have led a normal life. Still, I hardly know anything about him! I wish to return his love, to make him happy, but how can I love a man whom I do not know?"_

"Will you tell me a bit about yourself?" she asked, scooting towards him. Erik frowned.

"Why, Christine?" he asked suspiciously, "For what reason?" She paused, biting her lip.

"Well," she began, "You are courting me, are you not? And you already know much about me, whereas I know hardly anything about you. I simply wish to know my suitor better, so that perhaps in time, I can grow to... like him better." She could not bring herself to say the word "love" just yet, and inwardly cursed herself for her cowardice. Erik sighed.

"Very well," he said, "It is your right to know the man that courts you. Ask me anything you like, and I will answer as best I can."

"Where were you born?"

"A little seaside town. I do not recall its name."

"What was it like there?"

"Most always cold. It often rained. I stayed inside most of the time, even when it was sunny. Mother would let me out to play in the backyard on occasion, when night had just begun to fall and it was raining quite hard. No one could see me that way. I always stayed out as long as possible and invariably caught a cold." Looking over, he noticed Christine wore a slight smile.

"What?" he asked. All of this recollection was making him rather uncomfortable, but he knew he owed it to Christine, and the prospect of her growing to like him better had certainly sweetened the deal.

"I was just imagining you as a child," she replied, "I wish I could see a photograph." Erik visibly stiffened.

"No you do not, I'm afraid," he said firmly, and Christine dropped the subject.

When at last they were back in the house by the lake, Erik let out a sigh of relief and practically collapsed into a settee by the fireside. A moment later he was on his feet once more, placing fresh logs atop the glowing embers and prodding them back to life with the poker. His sweet Christine must not be allowed to shiver.

With the fire crackling pleasantly, Erik turned to see that she had sat down on the settee mere inches from the place where he had been moments before. _"How wonderful it would be to sit at her side," _he thought, _"Perhaps it is time I tried my hand again at this courting business. But what to do? Shall I sing her a song? Yes, that will do nicely. I am too timid to tell her of my own wretched love, but perhaps I can express myself to her through music!"_

Emboldened by his resolution, Erik sat down beside her, albeit with a large amount of space still between them. Reaching over, he made so bold as to clasp one of Christine's hands within his own. She looked at him, surprised, and he nearly lost his nerve, but seeing no fear in her expression, he pressed on, singing his love in the words of another.

Quel trouble inconnu me pénètre?

Je sens l'amour s'emparer de mon être!

Ô Marguerite, à tes pieds me voici!

Salut! demeure chaste et pure,

Salut! demeure chaste et pure,

Où se devine la présence

d'une âme innocent et divine!

Que de richesse en cette pauvreté!

En ce réduit, que de félicité!

Que de richesse,

Que de richesse en cette pauvreté!

Ô nature, C'est là

que tu la fis si belle!

C'est là que cet enfant

A dormi sous ton aile,

A grandi sous tes yeux.

Là que de ton haleine

Enveloppant son âme

Tu fis avec l'amour épanouir la femme

En cet ange des cieux!

C'est là! Oui, c'est là!

Salut! demeure chaste et pure,

Salut! demeure chaste et pure,

Où se devine la présence

d'une âme innocente et divine!

Salut, salut, demeure chaste et pure,

Salut, salut, demeure chaste et pure!

He knew his song to be slightly unfitting. They were not in Sweden, not where she grew up, but singing Siebel's aria was simply out of the question.

Still, Christine smiled, and did not seem to mind that the hands clasped about her own had grown quite clammy, nor that their owner had come quite a bit nearer in the course of the last few minutes. As Erik sang, her eyes closed, and the whole of her face tipped slightly upward, as if to catch the beautiful music that rolled from Erik's lips, as a flower opens to the sun. As the song ended, her eyes fluttered open once more.

Christine was at first confused by her surroundings, feeling as if she had woken from a dream. Slowly she returned to reality, taking in the warmth of the fire and the softness of the setee. An image came into focus. Erik's face was but a foot from her own, she could feel his icy breath on her cheeks. A strand of hair, black mingled with grey, stuck out at an awkward angle. Smiling, she reached up her free hand to tuck it behind his ear.

Erik instinctively jerked away, dropping Christine's other hand and rising quickly to his feet. He had barely realized himself to be standing when he noticed Christine's expression. She looked frightened, and, was that _hurt _in those beautiful blue eyes?

_"What have I done?"_ he thought, _"Erik is such a fool!"_

"Oh, Christine!" he sighed, sinking down upon his knees, "Please forgive your poor old Erik. He did not mean any harm, he did not mean to push you away! That is the last thing your Erik would ever want to do!" Erik's gangly limbs were curled beneath him, and his face was so sorrowful that Christine was reminded of some pitiful insect, waiting to be squashed. She forced a little smile.

"Erik, it's quite alright. I know... I know you don't trust me. Why should you? But I wasn't reaching for your mask, Erik. I was only going to..." Here she trailed off. _"Only going to what, Christine? Tuck a piece of hair behind his ear? It sounds silly," _she thought, _"He would never believe me if I told him! A poor excuse, he would think, for trying to snatch his mask."_ She was startled to hear Erik echo her thoughts.

"Only going to what, Christine?" he asked. Now her smile was genuine, though a little bit sad. She reached out her hand once more and tucked away the stray lock of hair. Erik visibly trembled at the contact.

"Just... that." She whispered.

**A/N: Name that tune! :D**


	12. Afternoon Musings

Erik did not speak for a long time. He simply watched her, gazing up at her in awe. Christine stared back, her eyes apologetic, and the slight, sad smile still on her lips. The only sound was the crackling of the fire.

_"Gentle Creature," _Erik thought, _"How is it that you have come to be so kind, even to that beast which imprisons you here? How ironic it is that the monster should recoil in fear from the touch of his innocent captive, rather than the other way around. Gentle Creature... How could I ever fear you? You would never hurt Erik again, would you Christine? You wished merely to... to __**care **__for Erik?"_ His brow furrowed in confusion beneath the mask.

"I'm sorry to have frightened you," he heard her say softly. He blinked.

"Christine?" he said in wonder before slowly rising to his feet once more. They stared at each other. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to reach out and brush his bony knuckles against the softness of her cheek, to feel the delicacy of her warm, living skin. He did not.

"I... I should go," he stammered instead, and gave a curt little bow before exiting the room.

Christine sighed, feeling relief tinged with disappointment at being left alone at last. She had spent nearly the entire day with Erik, and was glad to find herself with a little space to breathe, yet she was sorry to have driven him away.

_"Oh Erik," _she mused _"I wish you trusted me. I wish things were not so awkward. I'm so afraid, Erik. Of you, of the things I feel, of the things you __**make **__me feel. I'm not ready Erik! I'm still just a girl! But you've waited so long... You don't need a girl, do you Erik? You need a woman. I want to be a woman for you Erik, I do! But I'm so terribly frightened!"_ She buried her face in her hands and let out an exasperated sigh.

"I want to love you, Erik," she whispered, "But I simply don't know how."

Erik, meanwhile, was pacing back and forth in the privacy of his bedchamber.

_"She is so damnably good!" _he thought to himself, pausing to run a hand over his hair, _"How could a thing like me ever hope to become worthy of her? Christine, Christine, you are like the beautiful Tamara for whom the Demon harbored his secret affections. The wretched Demon, whom the angels condemned to eternal solitude. Dare Erik hope his fate will be different?" _He brought his hand down roughly upon the keys of the organ, eliciting a loud, dissonant chord.

_"My, but that was ugly," _he mused, _"And yet..."_ He played it once more, this time softer.

_"Yes, there is beauty in that ugliness. But it takes another..." _(Here he played a different chord with his other hand, producing a strange yet exquisite harmony.) _"To bring out the beauty in something so hideous."_

Erik stayed there for a moment, smiling as he gazed down at where his hands rested upon the keys before quickly jotting down the chord combination. "_For my __**Don Juan**__, perhaps? Yes... an aria for my __**Don Juan Triumphant**__, or perhaps a duet!____My god, to have Christine sing that music..." _He closed his eyes, letting out a soft groan.

"No, Erik must not think such things!" he said aloud, opening his eyes and beating himself over the head, "Nasty, nasty Erik! _Wicked _Erik! No!"

He decided that he had had quite enough excitement for that day, and perhaps it would be best to simply lay down and rest for a time before preparing dinner. Removing his shoes, jacket, mask, vest, and cravat, he climbed into the coffin and shut the lid. Relief washed over him at the familiarity of the dark, enclosed space.

"Too much time spent up above," he muttered, "Erik needs the dark, the damp. But perhaps Christine can help... good little Christine... she won't let them hurt me... Christine..." He nuzzled his face against the cool satin lining of the coffin, relishing the smooth sensation after hours spent in the leather mask. He rather imagined that this was what it would feel like to lay his head upon Christine's naked breast, albeit much warmer. He groaned once more, his slender hands curling into fists.

_"No you old lech, you mustn't touch her! You must not even __**think**__ of her that way! She is too good for an abomination such as you," _he thought, _"But surely one little fantasy wouldn't hurt, would __it? Christine wouldn't begrudge her poor monster a few fleeting thoughts, would she? She is a very merciful girl... But no, Erik cannot simply take a woman in his mind without regret as other men do, for he is not as other men are. What if she were to find out? Oh, she __**would**__ begrudge him! The sinful desires of a corpse are not welcome to any lady, least of all to the angel that is Christine."_

With these thoughts he forced his lust down, locking it away in the back of his mind. He concentrated on the cold, allowing it to seep into his very bones and extinguish the hot coals of desire that had been dangerously close to igniting a flame. As the chill permeated his being, Erik smiled in relief, falling asleep at last.

**A/N: Yes, it has been a long time since I updated. EverlastingLove**** mentioned in a review that it would be interesting to see a more passionate Erik in later chapters, when natural sexual desires took hold. The concept stewed in my mind a bit, and we get this. So guys, the remedy for writer's block? Sexy times. :)**


	13. Meltdown

Christine remained on the settee, lost in thought. The fire had died down to a few embers which smouldered passively in the fireplace, but she did not bother to put on another log or to stir them up with a poker. She had spent a long time thinking about her present situation, about Erik and her feelings and would it be enough to simply _try _and love him when he needed love so badly? Could she fix him, when he seemed broken beyond repair? Did she even _need_ to fix him? Perhaps she simply needed to love him as he was, broken and despairing and _oh so very cold_.

_"Am I going __**mad**__?" _she thought, _"Erik is insane! Insane, but so very kind, and so very sorrowful. I pity him, yes, and I want to love him, and something about tending to him just feels so __**right**__. But can I truly handle it? What if I fail? The thought that I might break his poor heart is too much to bear! I'm only a girl, Erik, but you want me to grow up, and I'm afraid. I __**like**__ him, yes, but I hardly know him! And I've tried to be kind and I've tried to be good and I really __**do**__ care for him a great deal, but what have I gotten myself into? What if I cannot love him, and he never lets me leave?"_

The coals had all but died out, and out of the corner of her eye Christine thought she saw a shadow move. She let out a shriek and toppled out of the settee. The shadow approached her and she tried to scramble backward on the floor, but it overcame her and grabbed her wrist and called her name and then she realized that it was Erik, and his eyes were staring at her like candles out of the dark.

"Christine?" he repeated, "It is only Erik. Erik will never hurt you, child, you have no need to fear. Now why has silly Christine allowed the fire to go out, mmm?" Releasing her wrist, Erik placed a few more logs in the fireplace and began to stir up the dying coals with the poker. Once he had gotten the fire burning brightly once again, Erik turned about to face Christine. His heart plummeted at the sight.

She sat still on the rug, just where he had left her a moment ago. She was small and pale and she looked almost as sad and frightened as the night he had first brought her here, five stories below the world she had lived in all her life.

"Christine," he said softly, kneeling down before her on the plush red of the carpeting, "Christine, what is the matter? Has Erik displeased you in some way?" He reached up to make certain that his mask was still in place. When he found it to be intact, Erik thought perhaps it was his now visible chin that was causing her such distress, and placed one gloved hand in front of the offending skin, shrinking back from her a bit.

"Are you ill, Christine?" he said, gently as he could, "Tell Erik, and he shall make it better." The girl shook her head, putting a hand over her eyes and drawing it into a fist, finally coming to rest with the bridge of her nose pinched between her thumb and lower forefinger, her brow furrowed and her eyes closed. At last she drew the hand away, but still did not look at him.

"I—I do not know, Erik. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I need time, and air, and space to think. I need to go back and... look at things from a distance. I'm frightened and I don't know, I just don't know!"

A cold hand of despair gripped Erik's heart.

_"She wants to __**leave**__!" _he thought, _"She wants to leave you here and never come back! She will run away, Erik. She will run away with that odious boy and she will never return to you. Fool! How could you not have foreseen this? She saw him today, and now she realizes how horrid a creature Erik truly is. If Erik lets Christine go, she will not come back and save him. And Erik will be left alone, alone, all, all alone, upon the deep blue sea, and God will not take pity on my soul in agony!"_

The look of numb shock that Erik had worn thus far changed to one of simmering rage, and Christine knew at once that she had said the wrong thing.

"You will not leave here, Christine," he said icily, his voice alarmingly quiet, "You will not leave your Erik here to rot while you go away with your handsome little vicomte. You would never do that to Erik, would you, Christine? Especially when Erik has been so very _good_ for you. Oh, he was still wretched; Erik was still a brute to you that one night, but that was because you had taken off his mask, and he had _told_ you not to do it. But other than that one, _abominable_ crime, Erik has not done a single bit of harm while you were here. Did you know that, Christine? Did you know how very _good_ Erik has been for you?"

"Erik, I—"

"Hush, Christine; Erik knows your deceit all too well! You meant to leave me here, to run away and go behind my back and deprive me of the one thing I've ever really wanted! But you are mine now, Christine; you have been mine from the moment you saw my face. Oh, and oh, it pains me my dear; Erik would not keep you here in this cellar had he any choice, had you not seen; had you not feared! And you've been to very _kind_ up till now, giving Erik more, much more than he dared request... But it was all an act, wasn't it, Christine? A cruel and manipulative act to make Erik give up the only thing that has ever _mattered!_" He was shouting now, his yellow eyes rolling wildly. He had come so close to Christine that she thought she could feel the waves of anger radiating from his person.

"No, that's not how it is at all!" she cried, her eyes wide in terror, leaning back, as far back as she could from the mad and raging corpse.

"YOU _LIE!_" he shrieked, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to her feet, "YOU LIE TO ERIK SO THAT HE WILL TRUST YOU, SO THAT HE WILL LET YOU GO! You ought not lie to me, Christine." His voice was quiet again, but it was saturated with all the rage and misery of his shouting. Christine wept. She was frightened, and he was hurting her, and she just wanted it to end, to stop, to go back to the world above; perhaps Raoul could help her, could take her somewhere far away and safe...

He was dragging her down the hall to her room, swearing and weeping and not daring to meet her gaze. He had trusted her. He had thought her _incapable_ of such malice, such unkindness. But she had deceived him, had lied to him with honeyed words and gentle touches to his poor, miserable face... She had soothed him after a nightmare, looked on him without fear, _kissed his forehead..._

He released his hold on her and fell against the wall, sobbing in rage, longing, and remorse. He didn't deserve her; it was his fault. Who would entomb themselves, throwing their world away to relieve the miseries of a lonely and amorous corpse?

Christine was sobbing behind him. She had sunk to the floor when he had released her, too weak and hysterical to do anything else. Erik nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two little hands grasping at his ankles. He turned and looked down and through his tears he saw her, his sweet Christine, her face red with crying, staring up at him.

"Please," she sobbed, her voice trembling, "Erik, please! You're right; it _was _a lie, but only in the beginning! I was afraid! I didn't know you, and I feared for my life! In the beginning I lied so that you would let me go..." She looked down for a moment, wilting under his wrathful stare, but soon looked up at him again and, taking in a shuddering breath, she continued:

"I found your diary, and I began to pity you, and I know that isn't what you need, Erik! I know you need love, and I want to give it, I do _so _want to give it, but how can I love you when you frighten me so?" Here she broke into sobs, and it was a full minute or two before she could look up at him again.

"Erik, you claim to love me, but how can you love a person whom you do not trust? How are either of us to love the other if we cannot first establish _trust?_"

**A/N: I am a horrible, horrible person for first not updating in so long and then throwing this at you. But it's all in the name of character development.**

** The long reign of fluff has been dethroned in the name of plot and exploration and personal growth. For now, at any rate.**

** Also it's like stupid o'clock in the morning and so I should go to sleep.**


	14. Blow Over

Erik simply stood, sobbing, trembling from head to foot. Christine's little hands around his ankles were heavier than any iron shackles, and they seared him like a red-hot brand. He leaned against the wall and slowly sank down to the floor, to Christine. He was suddenly so tired, so very tired, and so weighed down by guilt and misery that he could not keep himself afloat. He wanted her to hold him, to comfort him, to absolve him of his wickedness, but he knew that she couldn't—couldn't!—soothe this guilt away. Christine, after all, could not fix everything. _He_ was the one who had to make it right this time; _he_ was the one who had to save himself, to save them both. But how? How?

_ "Let her go."_

_ **"No, you fool, she'll never come back! Not now, not after what you've done!"**_

_"Christine will come back. Erik must trust Christine. If he trusts her, she will save him. She will come back if Erik is good for her, good and kind and trusting. He must give his little bird her freedom."_

_ **"She won't! She'll leave with that boy; she'll leave you here to rot in this dungeon and she'll never return! Don't trust her, she lies; she LIES!"**_

_"Erik does not deserve her."_

_ **"But he can have her. Erik can keep her here, safe, with him; everything he's ever wanted... A real, living bride..."**_

_"A prisoner is not a bride."_

_ **"She will learn to love you. She will come to love you, with time. There will be no time if she runs away!"**_

_"She cannot love her jailer! Christine must be free. It isn't right to keep her here. Erik must trust her to return. She will return."_

_ **"NO!"**_

__"Christine," he said, not looking at her. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it held none of its former threat.

"Christine, I am sorry. Erik is sorry. He will take you home, Christine. Erik trusts you. Christine will come back, won't she? Of course she will. Erik knows she will. He _trusts_ her. Christine will come back and make everything right, won't she? Yes, yes it must be so. Erik will trust Christine, and she will not hurt him. She will come back, of course she will. She wouldn't run away from poor old Erik, who loves her so, who is just a poor dog at her feet..."

_"Trying to win her pity now, are you, Erik? You old coward. That's all you could ever hope to get from her, isn't it? Pity. You want her to pity you enough that she'll do anything you want, and your love-addled brain can make believe she loves you, too, and isn't just playing along to put you out of your misery. And she will, too! Oh, too good, too sweet is the merciful Christine. She would pity this rotting carcass to the ends of the Earth. And what is love, after all, but just a shade of pity? Yes, she will pity her Erik, and do him little favors to relieve his misery... but when he is no longer miserable the pity will dry up, and what will become of us then?"_

"Of course not, Erik!" Christine cried, clutching his ankles more tightly and breaking his train of thought, "I will return, Erik, I just need time, and your trust. You must trust me, Erik! You must trust me if I am to love you." She stared into his watering eyes, and recognition pierced him like a bullet.

"Love me?" he gasped, reaching out and clutching her upper arms, "Christine, Christine you will love me?"

He was squeezing so tightly she felt sure her arms would bruise.

"I will try, Erik! I will!" she cried, tears still streaming down her face, "I will love you, Erik, but you must let me go away for a bit, into the sun, to think! You must let me, Erik! Oh, God... You poor man, and I... What is to become of us both if you cannot learn to trust me?"

Before Erik could even consider the question, Christine had flung her arms about him and was sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

"Poor Erik!" he heard her whisper, over and over and over, "Poor, poor Erik!"

She was too close; much, much too close. In throwing her arms around him, Christine had essentially flung herself upon Erik and was now slumped entirely against him. The scent of her did not help matters, for she smelled of roses and of cinnamon and of life, and Erik had never smelled anything half so lovely in his entire existence. He took in a deep breath through what he had of a nose and exhaled shakily, tears running down his cheeks. He could feel her tears soaking through the starched cotton of his shirt and they were warm, _warm,_ and she was weeping them for him; _only for him._

He sighed once more and wrapped one skeletal arm around her, tugging her impossibly, wonderfully closer and reached up his other hand to stroke her hair.

_"So soft," _he thought. He could feel the little pins that held up the hair, and his fingers twitched excitedly at the thought of pulling them out. But now was not the time.

"Oh, Christine," he said softly, "Dear, dear girl. How could Erik have ever doubted you? Christine... so kind, so _faithful..._ Erik will trust you. How can he help but trust you, when you weep those sweet tears for _him?_ Oh Christine..." He hugged her tighter, tears streaming silently as he rocked her back and forth. She had cried for him, against him, and so beautifully that he had thought it to be a dream. She could not lie to him like this. He would let her go, and she would love him, but now was not the time. Now she was weeping, and she needed his comfort, and comfort her he would.

"There, there, Christine; there there... Erik trusts you, now... He trusts you and he loves you and he loves you all the more because he trusts you... And Erik trusts no one, Christine; no one until you... Dear, dear girl, you can help Erik get better... He knows you can. But Erik must help too, Christine. Erik must help you, and he must help himself. Erik will help, in order that he might be less of a burden upon Christine; might not bother her quite so much. Perhaps he will even be useful to her, a little. Erik has always taken care of himself before, but the thought of you tending to his needs was just _too good,_ and he simply _had_ to bring you here, to try and win your love. And Christine, you _care!_ Oh, Erik was so very afraid you would hate him, but he knew he had to take the chance, and look now! You have shown Erik such goodness, such _care_ that he has let himself _trust_ you. Oh, Christine..."

Christine's tears gradually slowed, but not before they had soaked through to his chest and run all the way down to his sunken belly. He continued to weep into her hair while she lay there placidly in his arms, eyes closed, clinging onto Erik as if she thought by doing so she could fix everything; could drag them both out of his darkness to the safety of the light.

**A/N: Okay, I'm not entirely sure what just happened there? But it has become relatively clear to me that this story is going to consist of baby steps towards normalcy for Erik (as assisted by Christine), relapses into madness, stumbling blocks, detours, character development, and fluffy rest stops along the way. I didn't have a plan when I began this story two-ish years ago. Now I only sort of do. Let's see if it works.**


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